After the Ball
by Baron Munchausen
Summary: Sir Anthony Strallan never expected his life would be turned upside down at the Callendar Becketts' Ball early in the summer of 1914. Lady Edith Crawley never expected that any man would choose her above her more alluring sisters. They were both wrong.
1. Chapter 1

_**I could have called this story by several different titles, Cyrano de Locksley being my next choice. You'll see why. In this story, Mary was not compromised by Pamuk, and Anthony and Edith did not meet at Downton but at a Ball given by their neighbours the Callendar Becketts earlier in the summer of 1914.**_

* * *

_._

_After the ball is over,  
After the break of morn –  
After the dancers' leaving;  
After the stars are gone;  
Many a heart is aching,  
If you could read them all;  
Many the hopes that have vanished  
After the ball._

_-Music Hall Song, 1890s_

_._

* * *

_._

_There is_ _nothing more exciting _Edith thought_ than getting ready to go to a ball_. The dresses had been chosen the week before, and hers was a delicate lavender with peach lace trims. She thought she looked better in it than Mary did in her severe dark blue with beading that made her look even more stately and coldly distant than usual. But Edith knew that Sybil, in her dusky pink with ribbon decoration, looked the most beautiful of the three of them, and it wasn't just the dress that made her so. Edith so admired and envied her younger sister's effortless charm and allure. She was always so easy in company, whereas Edith, although older, had never been able to shake off the awkwardness of youth. Having to attend balls and parties with Mary didn't help, because whenever Edith made any sort of misstep Mary rolled her eyes, or giggled at her, or said a 'tsk' under her breath which was deliberately loud enough for all present to hear. It made Edith nervous and all the more likely to stumble.

Still, Edith loved the excitement of a ball. She enjoyed the dancing very much, but more than that she revelled in the possibility of finding that special someone who would make her feel she was worth more than she herself felt she was. When she imagined him, she thought he would be tall, handsome, and gallant with kind eyes and a turn of phrase that melted her insides. One day, or one evening, she would find him she hoped. She didn't think it was inevitable. She knew her parents didn't think it would ever happen, that she was definitely destined for spinsterhood and good works, and she knew they were probably right. That was reality. But on nights like this, as they got into the car to be driven to the Callendar Becketts' in the golden dusk before the ball, surely, Edith thought, surely she could be forgiven for wanting to forget reality, hoping, dreaming, longing for that night when she found him. Perhaps tonight would be that night.

* * *

_._

Anthony looked in his shaving mirror. There was no harm in going to this ball. He didn't have to dance. He would drink the Callendar Becketts' Champagne, make polite conversation with his neighbours, including, he reminded himself, trying to sort out that problem about the broken wall belonging to Grantham that bordered Strallan land, a discussion best had in a nice, neutral, informal setting and in a friendly way, and then he could make his excuses and come home. Balls were…uncomfortable reminders of happinesses and heartbreaks gone by. He had attended balls as a young man looking out for a suitable wife. He'd always enjoyed the company of women; he might even go so far as to say that he was a bit of a ladies' man…or had been in his youth. He was never a ladykiller, he was too unassuming for that, and what flirtations had occurred had been chaste inasmuch as they didn't go beyond kisses, and had always, _always_ ended on good terms on both sides and with generosity of compliments on his. He'd always made sure of that. He liked to think that he'd never broken any woman's heart nor sullied her reputation and was as chivalrous a gentleman as could be found in England. And he loved dancing. He liked it because he was good at it. His tall, lean figure lent itself to grace and he had taken pains to learn how to dance properly. This social accomplishment had the advantage of making him a dancing partner who was in very great demand.

All that changed when his parents arranged his marriage with Maud because he'd reached the advanced age of twenty five without finding a suitable bride. Maud hated dancing, and hated him dancing because it made her jealous. After he had married her, drinking Champagne seemed to be all he did at balls, while his wife gossiped with her cronies. She never seemed to have friends: only an ongoing series of alliances and feuds. He also talked with his male neighbours, or at least he tried to between their distractions of dancing with their wives and other people's. It had worn him down over the five years they were married. Other things had also worn him down: she was not affectionate in bed, leaving him in no doubt that his body, and what he tried to do with it, disgusted her. There had been compensations: she was not stupid and they had stimulating conversations, but Anthony was sure that marriage should have been rather better for them both. When Maud died of pneumonia, almost ten years ago now, he had felt merely hollow. He'd continued in his role of local landowner, thrown himself into the management of the estate, and become more beloved by his staff and the tenants, who both liked him and gave him their loyalty and sympathy.

No, there was nothing wrong with attending the Callendar Becketts' Midsummer Ball. After all, nothing of any note would happen.

* * *

_._

Cora had been very firm with her daughters that none of them should drink more than two glasses of Champagne, but had allowed that they could dance all they wanted. That suited Edith just fine. She could take or leave Champagne, although she didn't much care for feeling squiffy, but she wanted to dance every dance that evening, preferably with a different partner each time until she found the man she was looking for, and there were so many men there. It seemed to her that the flower of Yorkshire manhood had come. Surely one of them, _just one was all she wanted_, would prefer her over Mary or Sybil? She made an effort, she was polite and cheerful, she talked about interesting things to lots of people, men and women, but she was not asked to dance a single time in the first hour of the ball. She wasn't surprised to see Sybil fighting off requests, and of course Mary had her choice of partners. Once, she saw Mary look at her standing by the buffet table picking at bread while Mary was led out to the dance floor _again_. Mary's eyes held nothing but contempt for her. Edith turned to the wall knowing this was just how things always had been, and always would be: Mary, the stately beauty; Sybil, the charmer; Edith, the wallflower. She turned quickly without looking to go outside for a moment to get some cooler air, and knocked the Champagne glass out of the hand of the man standing behind her. It tinkled on the floor as it smashed. Edith was on the verge of tears already, and that little incident pushed her over the edge. She began to weep whilst mumbling her apologies, as footmen began to clear the mess.

"There's nothing to apologise for. It was an accident. No harm done" Anthony started, and then saw that the girl was crying. He bent down to her, speaking in a much gentler voice.

"Oh my dear…please…don't be upset, truly. Don't let it spoil the evening for you." He whisked out his handkerchief and gave it to her. She looked up at him with glistening eyes, and Anthony's heart gave a little leap.

"Thank you so much. I…" but she saw Mary looking over to see _what Edith had done this time_, and she couldn't stop the sobs that overtook her.

"Would you permit me to take you outside for some air, my lady?"

Edith could only nod. Anthony took her arm and guided her to the French windows and the gardens. He found a seat for them both where she couldn't be seen from the ballroom, and let her have time to calm herself before speaking again.

"You know, at my second or third ball, an awful long time ago, probably before you were born, I was so nervous I managed to spill wine over the prime minister when I was introduced to him, who at that time was Lord Salisbury, thank God. If I'd tipped Champagne over Gladstone, someone most assuredly would have had me put in the Tower and beheaded!"

She gave a shy laugh at that, covering her mouth with her gloved hand, causing Anthony to catch his breath again. This girl, (she couldn't be more than about twenty years of age), was so…so…

"Please" she murmured "we haven't been introduced. And you've been so kind."

Her voice was musical and sweet, and she tried hard to be polite even in her agony of embarrassment. Anthony felt himself fall just a little further before he thought _Good God, man, get a grip!_

"I am Sir Anthony Strallan of Locksley."

"It is lovely to meet you, Sir Anthony." He waited longer than he thought was necessary for her introduction, and when one didn't come he prompted her.

"And you are…?"

"But you know who I am. You called me 'my lady'."

"Just a convention to err on the side of caution. I am yet to have the pleasure of knowing my sweet companion's name."

_He called me his sweet companion; he said it was a pleasure._ Since he'd led her out to the garden she had been thinking what a really nice gentleman he was. He was gallant, and so tall she could hardly see his face without craning her neck as they were walking together. But now she also saw he had the most startlingly blue eyes, and such a nice, kind smile. When he looked at her, there was a deliciously quivery feeling in her stomach that she wanted to last forever.

"I'm Lady Edith Crawley, my father is…"

"Oh now I know who you are! We are neighbours. But I don't see you about much. Have you been away to school?"

"No." She gave a small, bitter laugh. "No, I'm a bit of an embarrassment to my family, I'm afraid. I have a talent for little upsets like the one you've just witnessed. So they don't let me out much, and certainly not by myself. My sisters…Lady Sybil…she's my younger sister…she doesn't mind being with me, but my elder sister, Lady Mary…" Despite all her attempts not to, she began to cry again.

Anthony watched her lose her composure for only a second before his sympathy for her overcame his decorum. He leaned over and put his hand on her shoulder.

She calmed immediately. His touch was warm, kind, and gentle. She looked up into his eyes again.

"Don't worry about what your sister thinks, Lady Edith. She is young too and doesn't yet understand just how much it hurts to be treated that way. You are a very special person, I can tell." He paused knowing from her expression that she didn't believe him. He nodded towards the dusk in the west.

"Look over there where the Evening Star is rising. Soon the sky will be dazzling with stars, but the people in the ballroom won't see them. Why? Because they are too preoccupied with what's going on under the light bulbs and candles. Yet the stars undoubtedly are brighter, and more longer lasting; their beauty is far more powerful. No poet ever praised a light bulb. And not all beauty shines in society."

She gazed at him still, now with a strange affectionate light in her eyes.

"Your time will come, my lady. I pray it may be soon."

Without thinking she slipped her arms around his middle and leaned to him resting her face on his chest. She was so grateful to him, and there was so much more that she was feeling that she had never felt before, that she didn't know what to think. He'd almost smothered her in kindness and understanding. It was in such stark contrast to all she usually experienced. It had opened a floodgate in her that she knew would never close again, and she didn't want it to.

It had been the best part of twelve years since any woman had touched Anthony affectionately. This young, beautiful creature had hugged him spontaneously, instinctively, and it felt so _good_. Two minutes previously, he had been master of himself; sure of what he had to say. Now, he could not find any words at all. Gingerly he laid his cheek on her hair, and settled his arm around her shoulders. They stayed like that for less than a minute although to them it felt like hours. Sybil calling for her disturbed their reverie. They pulled away from each other guiltily before Sybil saw them.

"There you are, Edith. Hello Sir Anthony. Please excuse us."

Sybil nodded to him politely, then took Edith's arm.

"Edith! I thought you wanted to dance!"

"I did…I mean, I do…but…"

"Archie Campbell asked after you, and Mary and I have full dance cards already. I've convinced him to dance with you. Come on!"

And with that Edith was pulled away. Anthony was left alone to consider The Hon. Archibald Campbell, (twenty five years old, dark, handsome, eligible – supremely dense and arrogant with it) and he felt the bitter regrets of old years seep back into his ancient bones.

* * *

_._

After a suitable delay Anthony followed Edith back into the ballroom. He watched as Sybil led Edith to Archie, and as Archie asked Edith to dance. Anthony didn't want to watch the young couple waltz around the room, but he couldn't stop himself. And it was utter torture for him to see Archie finish the dance with a flourish raising Edith's hand to his lips. Edith turned away from Archie, smiling, her eyes as brilliant with joy with Archie as they had been glittering with tears with him.

Completely forgetting the dispute over Grantham's broken wall, he made his excuses to Lady Callendar Beckett and left. For the first time in years, his heart was in tatters.

Edith spent the rest of the ball looking around the hall for Sir Anthony, but he wasn't there. She'd nursed a hope that he might ask her to dance too. No one else asked her for the rest of the evening, but really she didn't care. She thought only of Anthony. At the end of the evening, Archie Campbell bumped into her again and they exchanged the required pleasantries. Edith said he should come to Downton to tea. Archie said he would drop her a line sometime. They parted and that was the last Edith thought of Archie Campbell for several days. Her head was too full of Sir Anthony Strallan. He was thoughtful, intense, and had the soul of a poet. He spoke so beautifully. And his eyes…

_._


	2. Chapter 2

**_This story is really, really, loosely based on Cyrano de Bergerac: in fact 'inspired by' would be more accurate. There's going to be lots of angst, but no tragedy. The anonymous letters start in this chapter._**

* * *

_._

_Her head was too full of Sir Anthony Strallan. He was thoughtful, intense, and had the soul of a poet. He spoke so beautifully. And his eyes…_

_._

She had been thinking about his eyes the next morning when Mary had brought up the incident with the Champagne glass.

"Trust Edith to make a scene to attract attention, only to succeed in attracting the attentions of old Anthony Strallan!"

"He's not old!" Edith had protested immediately.

"He's forty if he's a day, little sister, which makes him old – twice your age."

Edith thought it significant that she hadn't even noticed that Anthony was that much older than her until Mary had pointed it out. Even after she had, it didn't matter to Edith. In fact, it may well have added to Anthony's attractiveness. He was steady and dependable, not given to the sorts of silly games Mary goaded her into just so she could win those games and rub Edith's nose in her defeat. Anthony was above all that, and, ridiculous as it sounded – she'd only met him once – Edith loved him for it, and, oh, for so much more than that.

* * *

_._

_My dearest, darling Edith,_

_ You must never again believe you are unloved or, worse still, that you are unlovable, because this is patently untrue. My feelings for you disprove it. I may not be the handsome prince of your dreams; I know I am not the most eligible man in Yorkshire, but I will adore you for the rest of my life with all that I am. Since we met at the Callendar Becketts' Ball my heart has been full of love for you. My sanity has been taken hostage by your smiles and now I can think of nothing else. I dream of how delicious it felt to have you in my arms. I am blinded by the memory of your lovely eyes as one is when one has looked at the sun for too long._

_ I don't know when I might see you again and that is agony for me. But I must endure it as I would endure all the fires of hell for you, if I could bask in just one more of your bewitching smiles._

_ And if I, unworthy fool that I am, can love you as deliriously as this, then it is certain that other men, younger men, better men than me will do too. Never allow anyone to convince you otherwise._

_ I love you._

_ Your loving admirer_

_. . . .  
_

The letter was rather short and not particularly well crafted, but it was the best he could do while bearing the burden of twenty years' frustration suddenly bursting out of him.

He had finally found her: his soul mate, his one true love, his Edith.

He hadn't slept that night after the ball but paced his library and then after dawn he'd marched the grounds restlessly trying to settle his feelings. But they would not be settled or controlled. He'd fallen in love, so hard, so far, and so fast that he felt he might run mad. He wanted to see her again so desperately. He wanted to tell her what she had done to him. He longed to kiss her.

And yet…

He was twice her age. If she felt anything for him at all, it would only be a young woman's crush for a father-figure, surely. It would be immoral of him to take advantage of her inexperience and trap her in a liaison she would surely regret; regret soon and bitterly. That was, of course, if she didn't just laugh at him. After all, he was making an ass of himself: the classic besotted old fool.

And yet…

She'd hugged him. The way she'd looked at him! His heart stopped each time he recalled it. If there was any hope that he might be able to make her happy, he would gladly dedicate his life to that. He wanted to have her in his arms for the rest of his days.

And yet…

She's a young girl, lovely but impetuous. Hugs mean less at that age. She probably meant it as a 'thank you' for the pep talk. Yes, the pep talk…she mustn't be allowed to think that she was unloved or unlovable. Because if he loved her, then it was logical to deduce that others would love her too, now and in the future.

So he had written that letter hoping…what? That she might be intrigued? That the exercise might purge his feelings of desperation and give him some peace? He didn't know, and didn't care to examine it too closely. But when he put the letter in the post tray, he also placed there a note to Lord Grantham requesting an interview to discuss the broken wall on the boundary between their estates.

* * *

_._

Robert opened Anthony's letter at breakfast and placed it on the pile of business communications to deal with today. Edith was reading her post unusually quietly.

"Something interesting?" asked Mary in her arch way.

"News from a friend; nothing to interest you" Edith lied and escaped to her bedroom to read the letter properly without interruption. She was weeping by the time she finished it the first time, and giggling with heady joy through the tears after the third reading.

The style of the letter was so similar to Sir Anthony's words about the Evening Star in the garden at the ball. Her heart was bursting with happiness. Could she really inspire love in someone as handsome, kind, and as wise and respectable as him?

Suddenly she was hit by a sudden cold thought: Archie had said that _he_ would write to her. What if this letter was from Archie and not from Sir Anthony? She knew deep down that if that was the case she would be disappointed, but the letter was still beautiful. The man who wrote it had a lovely sweetness about him shining through his words. The letter was anonymous. That meant that the author would have to declare himself, write again, or let the whole thing drop. There was nothing she could do in the meantime, except hope and pray.

* * *

_._

The day after Anthony drove himself over to Downton. Grantham had asked him to come over around eleven o'clock for coffee and to discuss the broken wall. Anthony felt like a schoolboy on the first day at a new school. Dealing with Grantham wouldn't be a problem. The wall was undoubtedly Robert's, and so the cost of repairing it should be borne by him alone. But Anthony wanted to be in Robert's good books just in case Edith…he quickly stopped that thought in case he tempted Fate to curse him. In any case, Anthony was happy to foot half the bill if that would help get the wall fixed quickly before he lost more livestock through the gap. What he was nervous and excited about was seeing Edith…or even worse, not seeing Edith. She may not be at Downton at all. She might be visiting relatives or, god forbid, that Archibald Campbell. He needn't have worried, because Edith was in the library, reading, when Carson announced Anthony to Robert.

"Good morning, Strallan."

"Good morning, Lord Grantham, Lady Edith. I trust I find you both well?"

"Very well, thank you, Sir Anthony. Did I see that you had driven yourself over?" she enquired politely.

"Yes. Motoring is my new hobby."

"What kind of car is it?"

"It's an open Rolls-Royce. Would you care to see it before I leave?"

"I'm sure Sir Anthony has better things to do than show you his car, Edith" said Robert, anxious to get this wall affair settled and over with, and half expecting Edith to embarrass herself, and therefore him, in some awkward way.

"No trouble at all. I'll ask for you when your father and I have finished."

"Thank you, Sir Anthony." She gave him that breathless, shy little smile again, and he felt his heart somersault. Then she took her book and left.

"Right then, about this wall…" Robert lost no time in getting down to business.

* * *

_._

"It's _beautiful_! What's the top speed?"

It was such an unusual question from a lady that Anthony couldn't think for a moment.

"Um…76 mph, but of course I haven't driven her that fast."

"Why ever not?"

"It wouldn't be safe on a public road, Lady Edith."

"But jolly exciting, I imagine."

Anthony laughed. She really was the most amazing woman. He smiled at her in admiration as she continued to look the car over.

"Would you like to go out for a spin in her?"

"Really? Would you really take me out for a drive?"

"It would be my pleasure. But do ask your father's permission, and wrap up warm!" he called after her as she scampered in to get her coat.

* * *

_._

_My dearest, darling Edith,_

_ If I thought I loved you before, I was wrong. There was so much further for me to fall! Your beauty is like an ocean of deepest blue, and deeper still are the reefs of your loveliness towards which my heart has been drawn on a tide of longing. Your heart harbours treasures and secrets undreamed of. You are a gorgeous undiscovered cove full of pearls and strange, sweet mysteries where I would happily live and die. You are a mermaid's song luring my unwary heart to my doom. And yet my doom is also my greatest joy: to love and serve you forever._

_ You are divine: Venus, the queen of love, who rose from the waves, never stepped from her shell as gracefully as you, beloved Edith, step into a car and glide through prosaic Yorkshire._

_ But I am under no illusion. Sometimes, bemused by the wonder of a golden evening, the hedgerows full of lilac and rose, and under the silver moon, I dream of you happy to be on my arm. I smile at the happiness that is so improbable, so impossible. My heart lifts. Then I remember my age and my dreams blow away on the wind to the sea._

_ I love you._

_ Your loving admirer_

_. . . .  
_

_Dear Lady Edith_

_ At Lady Calendar Becket's Ball, you wer kind enough to offer me tea at Downton, and I woud like to except_ _you're offer. Let me kno when it might be good for me to call._

_ Yours_

_ Archibald Campbell_

_. . . .  
_

Edith received two very different letters in the post the next day. She didn't open either until she was safely in her own room away from Mary and her prying eyes. The first was in the hand that she had come to know well and love more from reading the first letter over and over again. The second was in a completely different hand, and an utterly different style which was businesslike almost to the point of being brutish. Campbell couldn't even spell!

The other letter…she couldn't read it without becoming breathless. Oh, he was marvellous! And he made her feel so loved, so worthy of being loved. His words made her feel like a woman, not some silly, clumsy girl dropping china and embarrassing her parents in society by saying the wrong thing. She longed to hear him whisper words like that to her in his own voice. More than anything, she wanted him to embrace her again, as he had in the Callendar Becketts' garden. Edith was even surer now that her mystery letter-writer must be Sir Anthony Strallan and that gave her such a powerful tingling sensation all over her body that she was sure it was obvious, that people could see it when they looked at her.

Nevertheless, to be polite, she had to invite Archie Campbell to tea, so she chose a day later in the week, hoping that he wouldn't be able to make it at such short notice, and replied to his note.

* * *

_._

Anthony sat in his library staring into his tea, idly watching the milk mix with the brown liquid. The drive in the Rolls had been…beyond wonderful. He'd felt favoured and excited, young and strong. Edith had made him feel he was interesting and witty. He had made her laugh with his jokes, and squeal with joy at rushing down Locksley Hill at a rather daring forty miles per hour (even though he'd made sure it was quite safe). She trusted him and made him feel as though she relied on him to protect her, which was quite absurd since all he was doing was driving. She had asked him about himself: his reading habits, what poets he liked, the music he preferred, where he went to school. She was actually interested in him. She'd even asked about Maud, for heaven's sake.

He'd crossed the Rubicon now. He couldn't hide behind the façade that he was just trying to boost Edith's failing confidence. He had gone beyond that when he'd written and posted the second love letter. Anyway, it was a façade he'd worn only to mask his own desires from himself. Now, as plainly ridiculous as it was, he had to acknowledge that he was actually trying to woo Lady Edith Crawley. His audacity took his breath away. He'd stumbled into it against his better judgment and now there was nothing he could reasonably do except to see it through and make a damned idiot of himself. It would be unfair to stop writing to her now that he had raised her hopes. Sooner or later he would have to declare himself, and watch while she tried to hide her disgust and disappointment. If he was going to do it, he should do it soon before she became too attached to the letter-writing ghost of an ideal man that she was imagining: the man he sorely wished he could be. He thought that the Gervas' Garden Party later that week would be a good time to do it.

* * *

_._

**_Thank you all so much for all your kind reviews. I hope this story lives up to your expectations. I'm afraid that it is going to be about ten chapters of unashamed, romantic fluff like these last two chapters. Sorry._**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you for being so kind with this new experiment of mine. I'm not really following the story of Cyrano closely enough for this to be called a crossover; not really. But certain plot lines are 'borrowed' (merci, M. Rostand!). What I have done is lifted plenty of Cyrano's dialogue. I apologise to Cyrano, Edmond, and to you, my dear readers, for having to juxtapose his exquisite poetry with my dreadful prose. I hope you'll all forgive me.**_

* * *

_._

Tea with Archie was stiff and rather trying. Most of the talking was done by Cora and Sybil asking questions of Archie and Edith in turn, trying to get them to talk to each other. But Edith, despite being polite and showing an interest in what Archie had to say, was as shy and embarrassed as Archie was bombastic and inept. He said things that were silly and bordering on the rude, such as when they discussed the ladies' hairstyles of the day.

"I rather like the new styles" stated Archie.

"So do I. I think it looks neat and tidy. I might even have my hair cut at some point" said Edith trying to make an effort.

"Oh, your hair would look good if you had a new bob. Even I might like it if you wore it like that…"

Even Sybil, often critical of the English insistence on formal manners in society and forgiving of people who couldn't do it, seemed to consider Archie slightly offensive. He was handsome, yes, but lord! Did he know it! Sybil was sure that Archie thought that when he smiled, which he did often, the sunlight glinted off his teeth.

"Will you be attending the Gervas' Garden Party this Saturday, Mr Campbell?" Cora asked, hoping he wouldn't be and praying that Edith wasn't serious about this buffoon.

"Oh yes. It's quite the _scene_ isn't it? I mean, to be _seen_ at… '_scene_'/'_seen_' " Archie waggled his eyebrows at his feeble joke. Cora laughed politely. Sybil stared, appalled. Edith, blushing and squirming for the poor man who seemed so ignorant of what an ass he was, was even more convinced that he could not have written those lovely letters.

* * *

_._

_My dearest, darling Edith,_

_ How I wish I had the words to write the letter I have written a hundred times in my heart. Here, in black ink and white paper, I can be a disembodied spirit free of age and weariness. Here, I can pretend that you might love me for __who__ I am, ignoring __what__ I am. In these letters I can be what you would like me to be, and what I would love to be in reality for you. But some things cannot be changed. Time cannot be turned back, or even halted, not even for all the beautiful words in a poet's pen. If I cannot be younger, I wish I were more eloquent. I want to charm my imperfections into seeming insignificant, that you might focus on what little is good in me so that you might care for me, if only a little, and only for a little while._

_ What is good in me? Why, only those things that __you__ have brought out in me. Your youth teaches me how to feel joy once again which I had forgot. Your wit urges me to hope rather than to despair. You make me reckless, to believe my love might be welcome, that my words may delight you, when I know full well I am an insufficiency that seeks to clothe itself in a sunset of merely pretty words pretending to be what I am not. I feel brave enough to challenge the world's prejudices only because I hear your laughter on an evening's breeze. I can face even the possibility – the probability – of making a complete ass of myself for your sake, because you whisper Titania's endearments into my donkey's ears. When this madness is over, when Puck opens your eyes once more, I will treasure your presence in my life as the most charmed time I was ever granted, no matter how it ends. Because it will end, it will end soon, and probably badly because of my audacity. I pray that you do not suffer too much because I have been a selfish coward. I didn't mean you become fond of me, only to realise that you are lovely._

_ I hope to see you at the Gervas' Garden Party. I hope I will have the courage to speak to you then. I pray you, please be gentle with me when I tell you the truth for you are so far above me that one cruel word dropped from that height would surely kill me._

_ I love you._

_ Your loving admirer_

* * *

_._

The Gervas' Garden Party was really a sort of annual village show in aid of the local church. As such it brought out the best and worst in people. Competitive classes in agricultural and horticultural endeavours sometimes became little more than a battlefield on which to fight generations-old family feuds. At the same time local traders who'd had a good year, or landowners who had reason for gratitude made large donations anonymously via Lord Gervas to help with the church roof and the vicar's ministrations to those less fortunate. The noble and the petty sat down hand in hand on the Gervas' immaculate lawn.

Anthony had volunteered to help organise the marquees and had been there since early morning both supervising the workmen and physically helping to put the tents up himself. After lunch he'd gratefully taken Lady Gervas' offer of a wash in the house and changed into his party clothes. When he emerged activities were in full swing and most of the guests had arrived. He stood on the veranda a few feet above the lawn below, looking out for one very specific attendee. When he saw her, he was both bowled over by her loveliness – she was dressed in a white linen dress trimmed with lace that emphasised the colouring of her hair which was covered by a flattering hat – and dismayed because she was deep in conversation with Archibald Campbell. He was being very earnest and although Anthony couldn't quite see Edith's reaction because she was standing in profile, Anthony knew she would be listening to the daft young man at the very least politely, and probably with much more interest than that. Was he proposing? The thought struck his heart like a dagger.

* * *

_._

Edith took her chance during a long, uncomfortable silence to ask her most important question, a question she had been crafting for days previously.

"Do you write poetry, Mr Campbell?"

"Good grief, no! What an odd question! Do you?"

"I write, but not poetry, no" said Edith, giving nothing away.

"I don't see the point in all that guff myself. But I like a good dance! Do you dance Edith?"

"Yes, I do as a matter of fact, as you know from the Callendar Becketts' Ball."

"Oh, yes, of course!" If he realised he'd made a prize idiot of himself in not remembering their dance, he didn't show it. Well that clinched it. Archie was not the letter-writer, Edith thought to herself with relieved satisfaction.

* * *

_._

Anthony continued to watch Edith and Archie talk, lost in growing dejection. What could he offer her that Archie could not trump? Or any other man under his age for that matter. He, a man of forty with awkward social skills, few friends, and no grasp of modern popular culture.

But _Archie_? Why Archie? Edith, _his lovely Edith_, deserved so much more than _him_. What he did have was youth and money. But youth would fade and quickly at that, Anthony mused bitterly. What would happen then? What would his darling, clever Edith do with a husband who was so boring, who had so little character and less brain?

Maybe, in comparison to Archie, Anthony did hold some of the winning cards after all. _I have money, _he thought,_ and I truly love her. I would do anything for her._ After an eternity Campbell moved away from Edith and joined some other young men. Anthony took his chance, walking swiftly to the refreshment tent to collect a couple of glasses of fruit cup and then making his way to where Edith was half-heartedly watching the judging of the Prettiest Cow competition. To get to her he had to pass by Archie's group, and as he drew level with them he overheard a conversation that changed everything for him.

"You keen on that Crawley girl, Archie?" asked one of his friends. "I wouldn't have thought she was your type."

"She isn't, not really, but she's nice enough, quiet and obedient, and her father's an earl" answered Archie.

"I had an idea you were chasing after Sarah Cavendish" said another.

"Oh, she's _wonderful_ and her father's a duke. I think she's the bee's knees and I'd marry her like a shot, but she isn't so keen for some reason. And my pater is going to cut off my allowance if I don't go and get married and produce an heir for him soon. So like it or not, unless Sarah gets a move on, I'm going to have to settle for the Crawley mouse." Archie grimaced.

"Better you than me, old man" said the first man. "She looks a right wet fish."

"She is, believe me, she is. It's a life sentence."

Anthony nearly exploded with fury. He kept walking as steadily as he could, resisting all his instincts to drop the drinks, turn around, and thump Archie right in his pretty, stupid face. He was more determined than ever that he would speak to Edith today. Even if Edith refused him, Anthony knew he had to warn her about Archie's intentions and his lack of affection for her.

_. . . . _

When she saw him approaching, Edith's face lit up. That in itself was enough to inspire the courage and fire in his chest that he needed to carry him over the first few difficult words concerning Archie. But he began as mildly as he could.

"My lady" he smiled.

"Sir Anthony. I do believe you would have us bow and curtsey to each other in the Georgian fashion?"

"It would be pleasant to do so, as long as you realise that it expresses my deep respect for you, and is not done for convention's sake." He gave her that lopsided smile that turned her tummy and made her feel giddy.

"And as long as you realise that it expresses my apologies for shrieking at your driving the other day!" He gave a deep chuckle.

"We did have fun, didn't we?!" he replied.

"I hope we might do so again, if I haven't so embarrassed you that you won't have me in your car ever again?!"

"I would be more than delighted, Lady Edith."

They took sips of their drinks as each considered what to say next. Anthony got there first, taking her to one side where they would not be overheard.

"Lady Edith, I'm not sure how to say this, but may I enquire if Campbell has…spoken to you yet?"

"You mean…?"

"Yes…to be blunt, has he proposed?"

"No. Why? Do you think he might?" Edith sounded worried rather than pleased, which reassured Anthony, but she did look awkward, as though Archie was not a subject she wished to discuss with him.

"I have reason to think that he will. If it happens, I want you to be in full command of the facts in order to make a decision that will be the best for you."

She looked at him with even more wonder and admiration. Here was a man only just younger than her father who was simply assuming that the power to make decisions that affected her life was hers and hers alone. Did he really believe women had rights, and believed it so deeply that he acted as if it were the truth and a perfectly natural fact of life? She stared at him as he continued.

"What I am about to impart to you may be seen as…tale-telling, but I believe you have a right to know. I have heard from his own lips that Mr Campbell does not love you, that you are his second choice after the Duke of Devonshire's daughter, Sarah. He confessed that he has to marry soon in order to produce an heir because that is the condition his father has laid down for him to receive a continued allowance. Even if he were the most accomplished young man in England, which I'm afraid to say he is not, those would not be good reasons for you to marry him. You are worth far more than that, Lady Edith. Even if you have feelings for him, I beg you please consider what you truly want before you make up your mind. You never need settle for being second-best, Lady Edith; _never_."

Edith was stunned.

"Thank you for telling me. I appreciate your candour…and your concern. I can set your mind at rest, because I too have been having serious doubts about Mr Campbell for some time. Besides, he is not the man who has captured my heart." She blushed with downcast eyes, not trusting herself to look at him for quite a while. When she did steal a glance Anthony was looking so…so _lovingly_ at her. She thought _Perhaps_…

"Sir Anthony, may I ask…do you write poetry?"

Anthony was taken aback by her question. What a very sudden change of subject! Then with a shock he realised what the question _really_ meant: had he written the love letters? The time had come: time to declare his love for her. Bracing himself, he lowered his voice, leaned towards her, and stared into her eyes hoping he might find there the courage he needed.

"I believe you may have read some of my poetry already, Edith."

He watched her as her expression melted. She held her breath, her eyes not leaving his until she could hardly stand the happiness any more and her gaze dropped to his feet. Her breathing became ragged and she closed her eyes. The blue of the sky and the green of the grass changed places and she felt herself stagger into the dark. Anthony caught her and picked her up in his arms before carrying her into the house for some cool air and shade. Lady Gervas flustered around him, telling him to go into the morning room where it was coolest, and that she would fetch some smelling salts. Cora also saw Anthony carrying Edith across the lawn and followed.

Anthony gently laid Edith down on a chaise and offered his services to Lady Grantham.

"You've done so much already, thank you Sir Anthony. I cannot impose upon you further."

Lady Gervas assured him that she and Lady Grantham could care for Edith now, so there was nothing Anthony could do except make his excuses and back out of the room. He picked up his work clothes and made his way home.

* * *

_._

_**In answer to a couple of questions I've had: in canon Anthony has not lost his confidence in 1914. He plans to propose to Edith at the Downton Garden Party and believes he will be accepted and is very happy about it. Clearly that would not work for this story, so I had to explain why Anthony has so little self-belief, hence the defamation of Maud and the emphasis on his age although I personally don't think a man twice the age of the woman he woos is so bad – or vice versa – as long as they like each other. Many of you will know that my present wife was half my age when I met her. And we're still together.**_


	4. Chapter 4

_She fainted! I told her in the subtlest possible way that I wrote the letters, and she was overcome. Is it possible…? Despite everything…? Can she truly care for me? Don't be stupid, man, she just has a crush on you, and who'd blame her? You've seduced her like the worst cad with those ridiculous letters! This is your fault. You'll be lucky if you don't ruin her life. And all because of your selfishness. Have you considered that she may have fainted because she was so disgusted that an old man like you wrote those letters addressing her in that passionate and intimate way?_

Anthony's mind couldn't stop batting the thoughts around and around as he drove back to Locksley. He wouldn't be able to call on her today – he expected, rightly as it happened, that Cora would insist that Edith returned to Downton and that she spend the rest of the day in bed. Tomorrow was Sunday and not a visiting day, although he might see her at church. But on Monday he would call round and ask after her, and if at all possible, he would continue their conversation. In the meantime, he sat down at his desk in his library and wrote another letter.

* * *

_._

On Sunday morning Edith felt much better. Everyone blamed the sun and the heat for her faintness and Edith was happy for everyone to believe that. She had spent all the time since she had recovered in Lady Gervas' morning room thinking of the import of Anthony's words. Did he really mean that he had written those glorious letters? Had he meant her to understand that he loved her? The thought made her head spin all over again. He had seemed to understand the subtext to her question. She finally thought she understood why Mary acted so strangely around Matthew. If she felt half of what Edith was feeling at the moment, trying to act normally would be near impossible. She wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. There was an ache in her chest simply because Anthony wasn't in the same room, or the same house for that matter. She couldn't conceive what it would feel like if he were not in the same county, or country. It would be unbearably painful.

Her mother didn't want her to attend communion that morning, but Edith insisted that she felt fine. So she accompanied the family to Downton Church. She was rewarded by seeing Anthony if only briefly and in company after the service before her mother whisked her back home. The weather was still very hot and Cora didn't want Edith to faint again.

"I hope you are feeling yourself again soon, Lady Edith" offered Anthony.

"I feel much better already, but my mother is…making sure." Edith was rather embarrassed at the fuss Cora was making.

"But you'll certainly be well again in time for the party at Lady Allenby's, won't you?" prompted Sybil. Sybil loved parties, and, generous girl that she was, she wanted everyone else to enjoy them too.

"I do hope so" smiled Anthony.

* * *

_._

_My dearest, darling Edith,_

_ I trust this letter finds you feeling back to your normal, radiant self. I worried about you when I saw that you fainted on Saturday. I offered my services to your mother but she and Lady Gervas had everything under control. I would have knelt by your side forever if I had been permitted. I want to protect you against all the troubles and troublemakers of this world._

_ When I am with you I long to wrap my arms around you and hold you close, the better to shield you from all ills and dangers. When I am away from you, I ache to be with you, to know you are safe._

_ And yet the cruel irony is that I, who love you more than any other man, and more than any other man ever could, __**I**__ am the one putting you in most peril, by continuing to write these letters to you. How do you imagine me? Young, handsome, virile? I know I am none of those things. All I have is a little facility with words to express my love for you. But how I love you! I adore you so very, very much. I choke with love. It makes me stumble in madness around a forlorn and fiery place where reason is consumed. I love you beyond the limits that love itself sets. I am beyond hope, doomed, damned, and lost. Love has seized me with most wretched fury, and I am condemned forever. You must be spared such purgatory. There is a way to save you: you must know just what I am. I know it will hurt you to discover your loving admirer does not deserve your love or even your pity, that I am merely a foolish, old man. But you are lovely, and if you can forgive me and leave me behind, I know you will inspire love in someone your own age, someone who can inspire true love in your heart and give you real happiness._

_ If you can face knowing who I am, meet me at midnight in the library at Lady Allenby's party._

_ I love you._

_ Your loving admirer_

Lady Allenby's party was on Saturday. Anthony had less than a week to take Edith out on drives and to enjoy her company before his life fell down around him. When he wrote the last line of the letter, he felt like he was signing his own death warrant.

But it had to be done. He loved Edith. He would release her from this…this stupidity. He knew what life would be like afterwards for him. No more letters; seeing her only in the distance, trying to ignore the disdain on her face when she saw him. He would face it and endure it…for her sake.

* * *

_._

On Monday afternoon, Anthony appeared at Downton asking if Lady Edith was in.

"I am. I most certainly am." She smiled so radiantly at him that everything and everyone else in the outside hall just melted away.

"I was just driving past and I thought you might like to come for a spin, if you're not too busy?"

"Wait till I get my coat" she answered.

"You're sure you feel up to it?"

"Oh please! My mother's been making a terrible to-do about nothing. I'm sure the air will do me good."

_. . . . _

On the drive, there was electricity in the air. Each thought the other knew…but they weren't sure. Each wanted to say more than they did…but they were too shy to do so. They went up to the dales and stopped at a village where Anthony treated Edith to a cream tea. They joked and laughed as they had before. Anthony wanted to fix every detail in his memory, to soothe him in the cold, lonely days ahead.

* * *

_._

Thomas the footman announced Sir Anthony in the drawing room before dinner the next night.

Edith had received the latest letter in the last post the previous day and had been grievously upset. Anthony sounded so…resigned to the fact that she wouldn't want him. But _of course she wanted him! She wanted him so much it hurt. She loved him._ She was also excited that Anthony had at last offered to meet her face to face as the mystery letter-writer. When Thomas announced him, she was sure her heart stopped beating from the surprise and the joy of it.

"Sir Anthony!" greeted her mother in surprise. They all stood when he entered.

"Don't worry, Lady Grantham! I haven't got the date wrong!" he replied anticipating her next question.

"What a relief! I could hear Cora wondering if dinner would stretch!" said Robert.

Edith hadn't seen Anthony in evening dress since the night of the ball. He looked so wonderfully handsome, and, she realised, mature, experienced and competent, not _old_, but truly adult. That wasn't a bad thing in her eyes, even if it was in Mary's. But she realised that Anthony probably saw _her_ as such a silly young girl. She was only nineteen, although she felt about twelve at that moment. He only looked at her parents, ignoring her completely. She looked down at her feet hoping that the tears wouldn't show.

"No, I'm not really here at all. But I was driving past your gates on the way to the Callendar Becketts and I thought I'd take a chance. See, the thing is, I've got two tickets for a concert in York this Friday, and I was hoping that Lady Edith might like to accompany me." He looked at her, waiting politely for her reply.

She looked up at him trying, and failing, to control the wild happiness that she felt and to stop it from showing.

"But I'd love to!"

Her father looked at her with a mixture of indulgent fatherhood and despairing embarrassment at her lack of decorum.

"Shouldn't you ask what sort of concert it is?" he urged gently.

Edith realised she'd done it again; made an idiot of herself by forgetting proper behaviour, but Anthony rescued her.

"Just Hungry Hundreds stuff, mostly, you know: Bellini, Puccini, Rossini...I'm not up to anything complicated!" he jested, even though Edith knew this to be untrue.

"I'd like that very much" she responded hoping that was an acceptable way of showing how keen she was to go with him, and looking at him with what she meant to be an encouraging look, although it quickly became more a look of almost hero-worship. He now only had eyes for her. She felt he was looking right into her.

"Excellent! Well, it's quite a hike so I'll pick you up around six?"

Oh, he was wonderful! When he was with her she felt that society wasn't so bad after all, that she could cope with it with his support. And she knew he would_ always_ support her, and it felt so amazing! Heavens, how she loved him!

"Lady Gervas has asked us for a bite to eat afterwards, if that's alright with your mother?" Anthony turned again to Cora.

"By all means!" At least her mother seemed to be happy for her.

"Well, I must run. I hope I haven't spoiled your dinner!" he called as he left just as suddenly as he had arrived. Mary rolled her eyes at Edith, but thankfully didn't say anything. Edith covered her mouth with her gloved hand in her shock and joy and had to sit down.

* * *

_._

Anthony stepped back into his car and told his chauffeur to drive on. He allowed himself a very deep breath. He had done it! He'd asked Lady Edith out for the evening like some lovesick young man, and as likely as not making her look silly in front of her family. Ridiculously, her parents hadn't seemed to mind. Perhaps they would contact him with a polite refusal later on rather than making things awkward for her while he was there (although he thought he understood Edith's position in that household well enough to think otherwise). Lady Edith herself, however…oh, she was adorable! She was a vision in lime and cream beaded silk, with her ringlets piled around her head and her chest rising so delectably from…_what?…joy that __**he'd**__ asked her out? Oh come off it, old man! And for god's sake, you should not be thinking of that adorable girl's bosom!_

Nevertheless, he did allow himself to think of her smile, her beatific smile, all the way to his friends' house.

* * *

_._

On Thursday, Anthony called round again to take Edith for another drive. They talked about music and the next day's concert. They discussed art, the theatre, other countries and their food and culture. They stopped on the edge of the Moors for a walk along a riverside. The sun was shining though, Anthony thought, not as brightly as Edith's smile. Over a rough part of the path she took his arm to steady her and continued with her hand curled into his elbow until they got back to the Rolls, causing Anthony's pulse to race. Edith thought that she would never have enough of this lovely man's company, and was sorry when they turned back into the drive at Downton.

"I'll see you at six tomorrow then, Lady Edith…that is, if you still have a mind to come?"

"Of course I'm still coming! Why wouldn't I?"

"I wondered if your parents were really happy about the idea. I don't want to upset them."

"They are very happy." Then seeing an opportunity to make him think, she added "If you had been some Hooray Henry who couldn't be trusted, I think they wouldn't have allowed it, but we all know we can rely on you."

"Ah." Anthony didn't know how to take that and couldn't think of an appropriate reply, so he let the matter drop. He wished her good afternoon, and drove home to Locksley.

* * *

_**Sorry for the wait. I hope to post more regularly from now on. You will have noticed that I'm trying to weave a bit of canon into the narrative. But not all of canon will make its way into this story!  
**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**So, if Archie is Christian's equivalent in the original play, Lord Penrith is the Comte de Guiche. Sort of.**_

* * *

_._

When Anthony picked her up, using a chauffeur she noted, Edith was all aquiver. Ahead of her was an hour's journey sitting in the back of a closed car with Sir Anthony Strallan, followed by the concert, then dinner at Lady Gervas' house, and another hour in his company on the way back. As he came round to her side of the car to open the door for her, she felt the now familiar feeling of hundreds of butterflies in her tummy. He was in evening dress, of course, but sporting a long opera cape fastened at his neck with a chain; he tipped his top hat to her and to her parents. He looked like one of those romantic heroes in the moving pictures.

"Good evening, Lady Grantham, Lady Edith, Lord Grantham. It's a fine evening for it."

"Good evening, Sir Anthony" Cora replied. "I hope the weather holds for you."

"Thank you. I should think we'll be back somewhere around midnight, as long as all goes to plan."

"I hope you both have an enjoyable time" added Robert, betraying neither approval nor disdain that his middle daughter was going out with someone only just younger than himself.

Edith didn't feel able to speak and decided to stay silent until they were well away from the house. She got into the car, settled herself, and waited for Anthony to take his place next to her. Once they got going again, he placed a soft, thick blanket over their knees, snuggling up to her so it would cover them both.

"It can get quite bitter motoring at this time of night, Lady Edith. I should hate you to get cold." His eyes were so very blue this evening, they were almost luminous.

"I'm sure I shall not when you are here to keep me warm, Sir Anthony" she replied nervously, not knowing if her attempt at flirting had come out as innocently or, at the other end of the spectrum, as clearly as she had hoped. She was so good at opening her mouth and putting her foot in it, as the music hall comedians put it. But when she had the courage to glance at her companion, his expression told her that her comment had hit home, and much harder than she had intended. He was staring at her intently, blushing. Then he cleared his throat and without replying gently settled himself nearer to her under the blanket.

"What kind of music do you really like, Lady Edith?" Anthony tried to distract himself with conversation.

* * *

_._

The concert was not what Anthony was used to, having been spoiled by being able to attend, among others, the Musikverein in Vienna, and of course Covent Garden. He'd been right that this evening's programme was rather on the light side, but it was all pleasant enough. Edith was…bewitching…enchanting. She wore a dark emerald velvet gown with pearls and she took his breath away each time he looked at her. Despite his efforts to be polite and sociable to Lady Gervas and the other guests, he was looking at Edith a lot. This was his last chance. Tomorrow…no, he would not think about tomorrow. He'd given himself a week to get used to this idea that he was going to sever relations with Edith. Tonight, he was going to enjoy every last second. Having her on his arm tonight was…heaven. It was what it would have been like if he'd been able to marry her.

He wasn't sat next to her at dinner, of course, yet he looked at her across the table far more than he looked at Lady Allenby to one side of him, or Lady Gervas on the other. To his consternation, Lady Edith kept flashing him shy but dazzling smiles and they were having the most exceptional effect upon him. If they were married, he'd be taking this angel home with him to Locksley…

_It's just the wine, old boy! Keep your head and heart under control!_

Worse still was his reaction when he saw Lord Penrith, who was sitting next to Edith, smiling at her with obvious lasciviousness over the pudding. Penrith, just into his sixties and recently widowed, was rather taken with 'Grantham's little flower' as he called her, with an expression on his face that would not have been out of place adorning a pantomime villain. Anthony swallowed his anger as best he could, when what he really wanted to do was to knock Penrith's head in and take Edith away from having to talk to him. Anthony recognised that this violent, jealous streak in him was getting worse, but tonight his justification was that Edith was under his protection, after all. He must not let Penrith's lechery get to the point where whispers might be cast about. Grantham would have his head and rightly so. He listened to their discussion as stealthily as he could.

"Are you going to London for the Season, Lady Edith?"

"Yes, Lord Penrith. It will be my younger sister's first season and I fully expect her to be a remarkable success."

"More than you? Surely not! You must have had the young men shooting themselves for you!" Penrith actually licked his lips, Anthony noted with disgust.

"But perhaps you are not susceptible to silly young men. Perhaps you are one of those sensible young ladies who prefer an older, more experienced suitor?" He looked at her over his wine glass like a dog on heat, and not even attempting to control his lust.

"Certainly I am conscious of the advantages of such matches, Lord Penrith, although I am not yet twenty and would need my father's permission for any engagement" Edith replied. It was the most polite and neutral rebuff that she could think of and hoped that it would get through to Penrith. Of course it didn't.

"Oh, I expect your father would be more than happy if his most beautiful daughter found a good enough match, a peer for instance."

"My father's most beautiful daughter is my elder sister, Lady Mary, Lord Penrith. I am sure you must have seen her. If not, I would be very happy to introduce you at Lady Allenby's tomorrow night."

Anthony could stand Edith's discomfort no longer.

"Lady Edith, I'm afraid I must take you home now as we have such a long way to go, or your parents will never forgive me for keeping you out so late at night, and especially before one of the famous Allenby parties."

Anthony was on his feet making polite expressions of regret to his hostess and the company. Then he gathered Edith onto his arm with a certain smugness in front of Penrith and led her to the hall to collect their coats and to await his car and driver.

"Thank you for rescuing me, Sir Anthony" Edith said quietly, once they were on their way out of York.

"You're very welcome. I'm only sorry that you had to suffer Penrith and his mistaken sense of his own attractiveness" Anthony replied.

"Did I say something wrong? I usually do. I didn't mean to encourage him, you know that, don't you?" Edith's worried little voice in the dark cut Anthony deeply.

"Of course not! The man's a fool! It was all I could do not to ask him to step outside. It was not your fault at all."

"Thank you." She shivered.

"Are you cold? It has got a lot chillier since the drive down" Anthony asked.

"A bit. Not much" Edith lied.

Anthony looked at her. He leant over to tuck the blanket around her more closely, then put one arm around her shoulders, covering her with his cape. Edith stopped breathing. It was an invitation.

"May I?" she whispered.

"If it will help to keep you warm" Anthony nodded. She put her arms around his waist and cuddled up to him as closely as she dared. Anthony put his other arm around her so that she was totally encircled by his cloak. He felt her relax. _Oh god! I love you! If only this drive could last forever!_

"The stars are out, Lady Edith, and they are so very bright tonight. But you are brighter than any of them, just as I told you that night at the Callendar Becketts: brighter and more unobtainable, at least to the likes of Penrith. Out there somewhere is a man worthy of you; a man deserving, accomplished, brave, and young."

"Why does everyone think that he has to be young?" she said, not really believing she'd had the courage to say it aloud.

_Time_, Anthony thought, _for some home truths_.

"So that you should not be left a young widow, my lady. You deserve a full life of happiness, not cut short by old age, infirmity, and death. No one can defeat Time."

"Surely it is better to experience love and happiness for a shorter time, rather than not at all?"

Anthony had no answer to that. _Could that really be true? Please let it be true!_ He closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around his beloved more closely, and together they spent the remaining half hour it took to go the last few miles to Downton in joyful silence.

* * *

_._

_A few weeks ago I thought there was nothing more exciting than getting ready to go to a ball_, thought Edith. _Now I know that it can also be terrifying. What is Anthony going to say? And how am I going to convince him? His last letter was so passionate, and yet so despairing! Does he really think that he isn't worthy of me, or that I wouldn't love him, just because he's a bit older than me? I'm in love with him…Anthony, the man, whatever his age. Yesterday he cuddled me almost all the way home! It was magical: so warm and tender yet masculine. He gives me so much more confidence in company and I loved going to the concert and dinner with him as a couple. I've spent all my childhood training for it: to say the right things, address titled people in the correct way, and use the right cutlery for the right courses at dinner. And most of the time I get it wrong and it's made me so unhappy in the past. But no one ever said that doing all of that, having all that knowledge and all those skills, was only a **part** of taking one's place in society. The main part – **the best part** – is having someone there to share it with: him and me supporting each other against the world and its napkins and prejudices._

There would be some dancing at the Allenby's party, although it wasn't in the same league as the Callendar Becketts' ball. Mary had had a new dress made, but Sybil and Edith wore the same dresses as they had before: Sybil wanted to save up her dress allowance for her Season, and Edith hadn't seen the point in ordering new dresses earlier in the summer before she'd met Anthony. These were good dresses for dancing in they'd decided and fine for another outing locally. _Well at least Sybil's is; I wouldn't really know if mine is suitable for dancing in_, she thought to herself. _But tonight I am determined to dance with one man, and one man only._

* * *

_. _

That one man was in his dressing room trying out wordings for the worst thing he would ever say in his life. Nothing sounded right and he'd given up trying to formulate anything too formal. He'd just have to trust his instincts at the time. This wasn't like writing a letter where he could control what was said immediately beforehand. He sighed. He'd thought the whole issue through so much; there was little more he could do but try to keep his nerve when, and if, Edith came to the library at the Allenby's tonight at midnight.

He looked down at his latest letter…his _last_ letter, which he would send after this painful night was over. He really did not want to cut off all contact with that beautiful, amazing woman. She made his boring, monochrome world burst with colour and excitement.

No! He had to stop thinking like that. What he had decided to do was the right course of action. She was nineteen years old, for heaven's sake, with all of her life ahead of her!

_If I can just get through this night_, he thought, _there will be lots of time afterwards for me to regret what couldn't be._

He straightened his white tie and watch chain and left his dressing room.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Oh, thank you so much for all your kind reviews. It's so much more fun with readers like you.**_

* * *

_._

"Sir Anthony. I'm so glad you could come."

"Lady Allenby. I wouldn't miss a party of yours for the world."

"You flatter me" she smiled.

Anthony shook hands with Lord Allenby and walked on to leave his hosts to their greeting duties, and to get himself…yes, the always-the-same glass of Champagne, although he wasn't in the mood to drink tonight. It was all going to be horrible and he needed his wits about him. He couldn't see the Crawley party. But Anthony frowned at seeing that Archibald Campbell and his cronies were here, quaffing and guffawing already. Anthony felt a light touch on his elbow.

"Hello, old boy" said Hugh Gervas in his customary quiet, subdued manner.

"Hello, Hugh." Anthony was pleased to see him. Hugh could be counted upon to offer solid support at just the right time. He had a sixth sense for it.

"You alright, Anthony? Haven't seen you much since our bash."

"In truth…I've been through a bit of a sticky patch recently. Almost over now though."

"Foreign Office, I suppose? You do still work for them here and there, don't you? Got themselves into a pretty mess over there, haven't they?"

"Er…yes, they have, Hugh. It's going to take more than me to get them out of it, too, but actually it isn't…"

"Ah, Lord Gervas" some woman wearing jewels that would have made de Beers jealous was oozing charm at Anthony's friend. Anthony had never seen her before, but she took Hugh by the arm with a half-hearted apology to Anthony and led him away.

_Always the same; as it was when Maud was alive, so it is now_ thought Anthony as he watched his friend be claimed in the first dance of the evening. He turned just in time to see that the Crawleys had arrived, and that Edith had been approached by Archie Campbell almost as soon as she was inside the room. He was now taking her out to the dance floor. Edith was trying hard to be pleasant to the imbecilic young man, but he was acting as if he was…_almost perfect casting for Mr Collins in 'Pride and Prejudice'_ Anthony thought bitterly and meanly. He felt a twang of guilt at even thinking it, that was until Archie managed to tread on Edith's toes causing her to yelp. Campbell apologised profusely and took her arm, almost dragging her through to the relative calm of the salon to sit down. _Poor Edith! She really doesn't deserve him…she could do so much better…but he's still a better match than me. Good luck, my sweet one. I hope you do what you want to do, not what anyone else wants you to do, not even me._

* * *

_._

"I am so, so sorry, Lady Edith. Dancing was never my strong point."

"Please, don't worry about it. I'm sure it'll stop hurting soon." She hadn't kept the annoyance out of her voice, and she regretted it. Archie couldn't help being a…a twerp!

"This is most embarrassing. Because I so wanted you to think well of me tonight…tonight of all nights. You see, I think an awful lot of you. Will you marry me?"

Edith just stared at him. That was short and unromantic even by Archie's standards.

"You want to marry me, Archie?"

"Yes, oh yes!"

"Because…?" Edith prompted.

"Because…because you're a pearl, a good old-fashioned girl with a heart so true!" blurted Archie quite obviously scratching his head for something good to say.

"Sorry, Archie, but that's from a song, and if you can't manage any fine words of your own, at least quote from someone better than William Dillon!"

"But..but…"

"I know why you want to marry me, Archie. It's because your allowance will get cut off if you don't marry soon and Sarah Cavendish has turned you down."

"How the devil did you know that?!"

"Never mind! At least you had more decency than to try to deny it! I don't want to be second best to Sarah!" She took a breath to calm down a little. "I'm sorry, Archie. I just don't think we could ever make each other happy. Good luck finding someone who will be better for you than I could be."

Archie stood before her, opened mouthed and speechless, before turning on his heel and leaving the salon without another word.

Edith was continuing to rub her sore toes, and getting her breath back; she didn't hear Mary step beside her quietly.

"So?"

Edith started. "So what?" she replied without rancour.

"Did he propose?"

"Yes, he did" Edith sighed.

Mary drew in an audible, admiring breath.

"Well, I must say I never thought you would be the first one to get married, Edith. In fact I wasn't sure you'd ever marry at all. And Archie Campbell is quite a catch. He's heir to a Scottish fortune. Well done!"

Edith was quiet. Mary leaned over her.

"Edith, silly as it sounds, I'm trying to congratulate you!"

"Thank you Mary, and I do appreciate it, but…well, Archie would have been a catch only if I'd accepted him."

"What! You…you refused him? Oh you fool, Edith! Even you must see that he was your very best chance! Now, Mama and Papa are going to have to care for you for the rest of your life. How silly of you. Why? Why did you refuse him?"

"Because I can't stand being anywhere near him now, let alone if I'd married him. He doesn't love me, nor I him."

"Whatever has love got to do with it, Edith? No one will ever _love_ you. Waiting for love is the privilege of women who are beautiful."

"You are wrong, Mary. There is someone who loves me."

"Really? Who?" Mary asked incredulously.

"I'm…not entirely sure. He's been sending me anonymous love letters, but such letters! They're so wonderful!"

Mary was chuckling cynically and shaking her head sadly at her silly little sister.

"That was probably just one of Archie's friends trying to butter you up. How gullible you are! You are a lost cause."

* * *

_._

Anthony watched Campbell reappear in the hall, not looking like a man who had just become engaged to the loveliest woman in England. Had Edith turned him down?…because of him? Oh heavens! Worse and worse! He had now interfered with Edith's chances of making a good marriage simply because he insisted on playing Romeo. This was awful. Suddenly he saw Edith running out from the salon to the French windows and out into the garden. She was crying. He moved stealthily to the side of the hall and slipped out to the front door from where he could get to the gardens with less chance of being seen.

At first he couldn't see her. He searched the gardens nearest the building; she was nowhere to be seen. Stepping down into the sunken garden he heard a quiet noise: it was Edith weeping, he was sure. Silently he followed the sound to behind a yew hedge. She was sitting on a bench looking out over the ornamental ponds. At this distance from the house, she was illuminated only by the moon.

"My lady?"

She quickly rubbed her face to clear it of tears, trying to compose herself.

"Sir Anthony! What are you doing out here?"

"Looking for you. I saw you were distressed. I hope Mr Campbell was not responsible for that?"

"Only indirectly."

She indicated the bench and Anthony sat down beside her.

"I am glad of that, if only for Mr Campbell's sake" he said.

"Why?" she asked puzzled.

"If he had hurt you, I would have been sorely tempted to call him out and show what a very old-fashioned, old buffer I am."

"You're not an old buffer, and it would have been very sweet of you."

She smiled and gave a quiet giggle prompting a smile from him in turn.

"That's better. No more tears now. This is a party and you are young and charming. You should be dancing with handsome and _interesting_ young men who can appreciate how special you are, who can sweep you off your feet."

Her smile faded.

"I don't feel like dancing."

Anthony frowned.

"There's something else, isn't there?"

"Yes, but…"

"What is it?"

"My sister…she asked about Archie and when I told her I'd turned him down she called me a fool and said that my parents would have to look after me for the rest of my life because Archie was my only chance. She will tell them and they will be disappointed in me, as they always are. She said…other things too." Edith was only just managing to get the words out between the tears.

Anthony looked at her.

"I think your sister means well, deep down. True, she does say the most horrid things, but that's because she's so good-looking that she usually gets away with it. She's never learned to temper her words. As I've said before to you, not all beauty is writ on the face. Your sister will learn that with time. As for your parents, well, I hope that they would wish for you what would make you happy and what you would wish for yourself. I don't believe you think Mr Campbell would've made you happy, nor you him. Not that I think poor Archie really knows what would make him happy. He doesn't think that deeply, does he?"

Edith struggled to give Anthony a smile. She was thinking of what Mary had said, that someone else wrote those letters. Perhaps this wonderful, caring man really just thought of her as a young girl in need of help. He had no children of his own; he might just regard her as he would a daughter or niece. And she knew that would break her heart.

"But you are lovely outside as well as inside, and, given that fact, it would be a great pity to waste this waltz." He stood formally before her, bowing slightly, indicating the music drifting out from the dancing inside.

"Would you honour me with what's left of this dance, my lady?"

Edith was too emotional to say anything. She stood and let him take her in his arms relishing their strength and delicacy, the feeling of the woollen fabric of his tailcoat, and the closeness of him. Anthony began the waltz staring into Edith's eyes, all her softness and her sweetness in his embrace, the soft wisps of her hair and the touch of her perfume, and thought he might die from sheer happiness.

So there, in the gardens, alone and wordless in the moonlight, Sir Anthony Strallan and Lady Edith Crawley danced together until nearly midnight.


	7. Chapter 7

_**The meeting in the library...and an unexpected turn of events...**_

* * *

_._

Edward Allenby and Anthony Strallan had been friends since childhood, despite the fact that Edward had attended Eton and Oxford while Anthony had been sent to Harrow and Cambridge. In the school holidays Edward and Anthony had sometimes played hide and seek at Edward's house and that was how Anthony knew about the priest-hole in the library. He wondered if he could still fit into it now that he was over six foot tall and his joints were not as pliable as they once had been, but he need not have worried.

Opposite the fireplace he found the correct carving on the bookcase to press and the door swung out noiselessly. He entered and closed the door behind him just enough so that he could make sure that he remembered how to open it again from the inside, without trapping himself, and then pulled the camouflaged door shut fully. He settled onto the seat and watched through the eyeholes disguised on the outside as the eyes of a long dead relative of Edward's, portrayed in oils.

Would Edith come? He'd excused himself from dancing with her in the garden by saying he had to go in to see some friends, when in reality he was changing from being Anthony Strallan – silly old fool dancing with a beautiful, young lady alone in the moonlight, constantly fighting the urge to kiss her – to being Anthony Strallan, the mysterious letter writer who unmasks himself and turns out to be…a silly old fool.

In some ways he hoped that Edith would not come; he fully expected this conversation to be very painful for them both. But it had to be done, for her sake. He would allow himself one last chance to address words of love to her, his identity unknown, one last bit of theatre, and then she must be told.

* * *

_._

Edith held her breath and opened the door. The Allenby's library was not as large as the one at home, but it was very pleasant and cosy in the dark and the glow of a dying fire. It was furnished with comfortable armchairs and old portraits, as well as bookcases. There was no one there.

Her heart fell. So, Mary was right after all.

But…but he had danced with her! In the moonlight! He danced so gracefully, and it was heaven being swept up in his arms gazing into his mesmerising blue eyes. If Anthony didn't write those letters, she felt she might die of grief.

Even as her eyes pricked with tears, she looked at the clock on the mantel. It wasn't quite midnight. She closed the door behind her with relief, determined to wait and to have faith. Quietly, she sat on the chaise nearest the fire, trying to keep calm.

Faintly, she could hear the music coming from the hall over the deafening beat of her own heart.

She was tense and nervous as a mouse; so much so that when the clock began to strike, she jumped. Then she counted the chimes…ten, eleven, twelve.

Silence.

"Thank you for coming, my sweet."

The voice was controlled and whispered, hardly recognisable. But _she_ would know his voice anywhere and her heart leapt. He had appeared out of nowhere behind her, like a spectre. Was her obsession with Anthony Strallan driving her out of her mind, she wondered briefly. "Would you put your hand on my shoulder please, so that I know you are real? Mary said such things, dismissive things about my anonymous admirer, that I scarce believe you to be true."

_So that was what had been worrying her_ he thought_._

"What did she say?" he whispered.

"That you were just one of Archie's friends trying to butter me up with pretty words."

"No, I am not one of Archie's friends. And I certainly wasn't trying to woo you for him, on his behalf. You are worth more than a hundred Archies. I was only trying to tell you, convince you, that you are lovely."

She went to turn to him but he stopped her.

"Don't turn around…not yet please. Let me have this moment…this one moment to speak to you, not in ink and letters but in my own voice…one moment free of the choking asthma that you might laugh at me, or be disgusted that I worship you as I do" he continued in a whisper but a whisper that was becoming more and more passionate.

"You are so beautiful, Edith, as bright as the sun, as soft as the moonlight, as wondrous as the constellations…please believe that suitors _will come_…suitors with more nous than Archibald Campbell, and more charm and youth than Lord Penrith. Suitors who will truly appreciate you, and deserve you. Believe that please. Promise me?"

"I promise because you have made me believe it." He sighed, so close to the back of her neck that she felt the warmth of it. She shivered with desire.

"Will you promise me something in return?" she asked.

"Yes, my dear, anything, if I can."

"I know you don't think you deserve me…that you don't think it possible that I might love you, but will you promise to believe me if I say that I do love you when I turn round and discover who you are?"

There was a tense silence. Edith had manoeuvred him into a corner where he could not reasonably deny her request.

"I promise to believe you, my dearest darling. Turn around now and learn the worst."

"I don't really need to turn around, do I Anthony?"

She did turn round then to see him looking at her with a mixture of surprise, regret, and dread. When he saw the total love in her eyes unchanged for seeing who he was…the person she fully expected him to be…his expression changed to disbelief and incomprehension.

"You can't…care for me. No…it is not possible!"

"Why not, Anthony? You have been trying to convince me that there will be other men who will woo me because _you_ find me attractive. Well, by the same logic I disprove all your arguments that it is impossible that I should love you, because, you see, I do. I do love you. And you have just promised to believe me."

Anthony took a step backward.

"Dear god, what have I done!?"

"You have made me the happiest woman alive, Anthony!"

His reply was despairing and frantic.

"I've condemned you. If I…if I reject you now…and believe me I don't want to…I break your heart and mine, and leave you vulnerable to every idiot like Campbell or Penrith who might prey on you. If I carry on pursuing you, I sentence you to wasting your youth and your life on a man old enough to be your father until you are so bored, frustrated, and fed up with it that I wouldn't blame you if you took a younger lover and ruined your reputation. When I die, which will be all too soon, I would leave you bereaved and bitter at far too young an age. You do not deserve either fate, my love. Oh dear god, what am I going to do?"

"But…you promised…" she murmured feeling as lost and as miserable as him.

"Yes, my darling, I did promise, and I've kept my promise. I do believe that you care for me…here and now. But I also believe you are too young to know truly what it is you feel. I don't think what you feel now is the sort of affection that lasts. Make no mistake, I treasure it as the priceless gift that it is, but I just think you are in the grip of the sort of obsession such as afflicts the young. It burns intensely, and is gone. I dare not trust the rest of our lives to it. You are so very young."

Miserable though she was at his reaction, Edith was still resourceful and practically-minded.

"If that is your concern, then I have a suggestion, an agreement between us. If we wait until, say, my twenty-first birthday when I am of age, and I can assure you on that day that my feelings for you are the same as they are now, will you promise to propose to me then? Call it a test to see if my love endures."

Anthony looked at her with admiration at her fortitude. Again she had proved just what a remarkable woman she was.

"May I add a codicil: that should you meet a young man who steals your heart away from me, one who is worthy of you, then you will follow your heart? Let me know, and the agreement will be dissolved. Do you agree to that?"

"Agreed" she said smiling, knowing that was not likely to happen.

"When is your twenty-first birthday, Edith?"

"22nd July 1916, just under two years away."

Not believing what he was about to say, not even recognising his own voice, Anthony declared "Then I accept your suggestion. If you still care for me and want me for your husband on that date and have not met anyone else, I will propose to you on the 22nd July 1916."

Edith thought her heart would explode with happiness. She couldn't quite catch her breath and her eyes glistened with joy. Despite everything, Anthony found himself in a similar state. Edith took a step forward to hug him and just for once Anthony responded. They held each other softly, joyfully weeping until Edith drew back and looked into Anthony's eyes with a serious intent and desire that could not be misinterpreted.

"No! No, I will not kiss you now."

"Why not, Anthony? We're practically engaged."

"We are not engaged, and will not be until your twenty-first birthday."

"But…"

"No! First kisses are special. I assume that you haven't been kissed before?"

She nodded.

"Your first kiss is one that you will remember forever after. It should be shared with the love of your life."

"But _you_ are the love of my life, Anthony."

"I thought that was what our agreement was there to prove."

"You can be so…so obstinately logical, Sir Anthony Strallan!"

"I'm sorry, but better that you discover that now rather than after we are married!"

She hit him playfully on the arm and laughed.

"Touché!"

"I suspect that was the first of many such tiffs, my dear" Anthony stated sadly.

"Then we will be just like any other old married couple!" Edith replied.

"Touché!" he laughed.

They still had their arms around each other and it was becoming too temptingly easy and familiar. Anthony cleared his throat.

"Shall we go back to the party, Edith?"

"Only if you will dance the last waltz with me."

"I would be delighted" he smiled.

He offered her his arm and she took it with a radiant smile that melted all his resolution not to act the beau with her. He led her back to the dancing and whirled her through the last waltz as if they were both dancing on clouds, neither of them giving a single fleeting thought to what anyone who saw them thought.

* * *

_._

**_Thank you all again for reading and reviewing. I hope you like how things are progressing. _**


	8. Chapter 8

In the week after the Allenbys' party Anthony took Edith out for drives twice and came for tea once. Edith so keenly anticipated his visits that everyone noticed, even Robert.

"Do you think you should talk to Sir Anthony, perhaps at the Garden Party tomorrow?" Violet asked her son as they sat in the library.

"Ask his intentions you mean?" Robert replied not really looking up from his book.

"No…put him off. Really, that girl has dreadful taste in men. First Archie Campbell, now Sir Anthony Strallan. We will have to find someone more suitable for her."

"What's wrong with Anthony?" Robert turned a page.

"I think Edith could do better, that is all" Violet sighed, frustrated at Robert's obtuseness.

"He's steady, patient, has a good income, and is obviously smitten with Edith. I think Edith's wise enough to choose for herself someone who complements her and who makes her happy. I really don't think we should interfere" said Robert quite definitely.

The Dowager huffed, but Robert had made her think.

* * *

_._

Edith was so blissfully happy. Anthony had promised to propose to her on her twenty-first birthday, less than two years away: not so very long. In the meantime he seemed happy to spend time with her, though not so much that people talked, although he'd stopped writing love letters she noticed. If she could persuade him to start again, everything would be perfect. As she chose the dress to wear to this afternoon's garden party out on Downton Abbey's lawn, she really couldn't have been happier.

* * *

_._

Anthony chose a rather dark brown suit for the Crawley's Garden Party. The weather had not been promising that morning and all his lighter coloured suits were quite thin. He had thought that he might be cold, but as he paced around the lawns in the blazing sunshine he felt almost uncomfortably warm, but really that had nothing to do with the weather. There was something else, something terribly, horribly wrong that only he knew. It was only a matter of time before it became public knowledge though.

Lady Mary had just caught him and insisted on telling him a lot of nonsense about how socially inept Lady Edith was, and how she had been a fool to refuse Archibald Campbell when no one else would look at her. Anthony pitied her. Poor Mary! She must be so very unhappy herself. Perhaps things with Mr Crawley were not going well. But her words nagged at Anthony. Edith was only just blossoming into the exceptionally beautiful and accomplished woman Anthony knew she would become. She should be enjoying the attentions of young men like…no, not like Archie, but young men his age with better heads on their shoulders, and truer hearts. Why was she so fixated on him…old and unpromising as he was? This faux courtship, which he had hoped would satisfy her hopes and curiosity and accelerate her boredom with him…maybe it wasn't the wisest course of action after all. He shook the thought from his head. It had been less than a week. She would tire of him soon enough, whereas running away from her might only have caused her to want him more, and now he'd be running away soon enough as it was. No, this would work: her obsession with him would all have blown over by Christmas, if not before. There would be other things for her to think about, after all.

He saw Edith looking stunningly lovely as usual. Offering her his arm while greeting her with studied politeness they began to stroll around the gathering. Their pleasant conversation was interrupted by the Earl asking for silence to make an announcement.

* * *

_._

In the agitation and chaos that followed Robert's news, Edith looked at Anthony in shock to find that his face was calm and determined, as if…

"You knew!"

Anthony said nothing but nodded slightly to answer her. After the exchange of charged looks, Edith drew Anthony away from the crowds to behind one of the marquees to talk to him. Unknown to them the Dowager Countess was sitting just the other side of the canvas recovering from the shock caused by Robert's words. When Edith and Anthony spoke she could not help but hear every syllable.

"Anthony, how? How did you know?"

"A friend of mine who works at the War Office telephoned me last night. We've officially been at war since seven o'clock yesterday evening."

"Why…why were you told so quickly? Anthony, tell me please. You're frightening me!"

"I'm sorry my dear. Be brave…as brave as I know you are. My friend…he wasn't calling as a friend…he was calling me up. I volunteered for the Intelligence Corps just after the Archduke was assassinated. I knew that awful event would lead to this. It was just before I met you, before I had anything to lose. I thought it was my duty…I still consider it my duty."

Edith was frantic.

"But surely they won't take you. You are over age."

"There is no age limit for the Intelligence Corps."

"Please, Anthony, please don't go…tell them you withdraw your…"

"Edith! It's too late for this."

In a kinder, sadder voice he asked "Would you like to be released from our agreement?"

"Of course not, Anthony!" she cried definitely, defiantly, although in return she asked in a smaller voice "Would you?"

"I feel it would be more sensible, for your sake. Of course you can break it off any time you feel appropriate. But if you don't want to, I will not insist upon it."

They looked at each other in silence for a while.

"When…I mean, how soon will they want you to report?"

"On Friday."

"Oh Anthony!" She finally succumbed to the tears that had been threatening. Anthony took her in his arms and comforted her with soothing noises and stroking her hair. They separated just as William came to find Edith to summon her at Cora's request.

* * *

_._

The next day, Anthony was on his way out to see Edith when, to his shock, Violet was announced.

"Lady Grantham! What a pleasant surprise!"

"I very much doubt that" she retorted.

"Er…would you care for a cup of something? Tea? Coffee?"

"No, thank you, Sir Anthony. Nor do I wish to sit down, anticipating your next offer, as it appears you are about to go out."

Anthony stood dumb before her. It seemed to be the simplest thing to do.

"I will come straight to the point." She paused dramatically.

"Are you engaged to be married to my granddaughter Edith?"

Anthony paused in turn, to lend his answer weight.

"No, I am not."

"Don't lie to me, Sir!"

"I swear to you, Lady Grantham, upon my honour, I am not engaged to Lady Edith. I am not in the habit of lying to anyone, and least of all you."

"I heard you and Edith talking behind the marquee in which I was sitting yesterday afternoon."

"Then you will have heard us talk of an _agreement_, not an _engagement_."

"Semantics" snorted Violet! "Is there a difference?"

"In this case, yes, Lady Grantham. Lady Edith is only just nineteen. When it became clear to me that she was fond of me, I was incredulous because of the age difference."

"There is nothing materially wrong with that, Sir Anthony."

"Still, I consider myself too old for Lady Edith and view her fondness for me as merely a crush of youth. Despite my regard for her, which I assure you could not be greater, I felt it would be prudent for us both to wait to be sure of her feelings. Lady Edith herself suggested that we see how she feels about our union on her twenty-first birthday, and I stipulated that she promise to be open to other, more suitable offers. If, however, she declares that her feelings are unchanged, I have committed to proposing when she comes of age. So you must understand, Lady Grantham, we are not yet engaged."

"Ah" said Violet, and then was quiet for a long moment while she thought Anthony's words over.

"And you love her?" Violet asked, a little more gently.

"With all my heart." Anthony drew himself up to his full height as he said it, realising that, yes, he was proud of it, of Edith, of her regard for him, and of their agreement, their understanding of each other.

"Do speak to her yourself. I am about to visit her now and would be happy to give you a lift" Anthony offered.

"I may do that very thing, though I assure you it will not be for the purposes of checking the veracity of your account. It seems that I owe you an apology, Sir Anthony. You have acted with both concern for Edith's future, as well as care for her present feelings. I have nothing with which to reproach you."

"Thank you, Lady Grantham, but I do understand your anxieties."

"Oh I'm not anxious. If Edith has told you that a certain thing will happen, it will happen. Crawleys always get their way and hardly ever change their minds, Sir Anthony. Now…this war business. Why do you feel you have to volunteer and leave Edith worrying about you?"

"Because it is my duty. I speak French and German. I know Vienna and a few other Austrian and German cities well. I briefly attended Heidelberg University after Cambridge. I am acquainted with some members of the German and Austrian aristocracy and intelligentsia. In short, I could be very useful to the war effort by serving in the Intelligence Corps. I would be failing in the service of my country if I did not volunteer."

"And there is nothing I can say to dissuade you?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Then I must just make myself useful by supporting Edith through your absence. Thank you for your offer of a lift, but I think I will go ahead of you to speak to her."

Violet offered Anthony her hand.

"If I don't see you again before Friday, I want to wish you good luck, Sir Anthony. May God protect you, and bring you home safely…to Edith."

"Thank you, Lady Grantham" Anthony replied in a daze, wondering whether all Crawley women were as formidable as Edith and her grandmother.

* * *

_._

"Why are you two still here?! I _said_, 'I wish to speak to Edith alone' "

Cora and Mary looked at each other, wondering what was exercising Granny so much. Mary was sure Edith was about to be given a lecture about Archibald Campbell. Cora thought it was probably about Anthony Strallan, and so was much nearer the mark although she had no real inkling as to the subject of the upcoming conversation. They both got up and left the drawing room.

Edith sat up straight knowing _that_ tone of voice. She knew it meant she was about to be given a talking to, and she just hoped that it _wasn't_ about Anthony. She also hoped she wouldn't cry too much. Granny hated girls weeping.

Violet waited until Cora shut the door, counted to three (as she always did, to make sure whoever was leaving didn't listen at the door), and sat down. To Edith's surprise, Granny was not particularly severe.

"Now, dear, tell me the truth. Are you in love with Sir Anthony Strallan?"

Edith opened her mouth, the shock of Granny's question making her nauseous. She had to take another breath and start again. She thought of Anthony's face and drew courage from him.

"Yes, I am" she stated with a confidence that belied her nerves.

"He is totally unsuitable, dear. Only a baronet. You could do so much better. Not, perhaps, someone like Archie Campbell, who is, I admit, a total buffoon! But _Anthony_?"

"Yes, Granny. I love him."

"Will he make you happy, dear? In twenty years' time what will you talk about?"

"Poetry, the papers, music, current events, the theatre, the county, art, Parliament and politics…"

"Yes, yes, alright, I can see you are quite two little chatterboxes…do you think he loves you?"

Edith smiled a knowing smile.

"Yes, Granny. He writes me the most wonderful letters, and tells me beautiful things when I am with him."

Violet took her granddaughter's hand.

"Then, apart from the current international situation, you are extremely lucky, my girl. Hardly anyone I have known has managed to find a love match _before_ they are married." Violet changed her voice from flippant but affectionate to concerned and serious.

"The next few months while this war is being sorted out will be difficult for you, my dear. If you need to talk to someone…well, let's just say that grandmothers sometimes like to be needed."

Edith hugged her grandmother. Her support was so unexpected, but so welcome.

"Will you tell the rest of the family about your 'agreement' that isn't an engagement?...oh, don't worry, dear, and don't look so frightened! I spoke to Anthony this morning and put him through a proper interrogation. He came through with flying colours. You should be proud of him. He's told me all about it."

"Anthony doesn't want me to make it public. He says that when I change my mind and want to marry someone else, which, of course, I won't, it will make it easier for everyone if no one knows I was sort of engaged to him. He thinks about me and my reputation and all that, Granny, far more than I do."

"Thank god someone does! Well, never fear: I shall not tell your parents or your sisters. Ah, here he is now. How you and he can ride around in that beastly machine of his, I do not know. It must be like Boadicea's chariot only faster!"

* * *

_**The declaration of war is bringing Anthony's and Edith's relationship to a different place much more quickly than they anticipated. I do hope you are all enjoying it still. **_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Thank you so much to everyone who has read or/and reviewed. I do so appreciate it, and I will get around to thanking you individually when I can!  
**_

* * *

_._

On Thursday morning, the day before Anthony had to report for duty in London, Edith saw the Rolls come up the drive and ran out to meet Anthony. She didn't want to think too much about what was to come. It was important to Anthony that today was happy, and important to Edith that Anthony was happy. So Edith determined to be cheerful, for his sake.

Violet had told Cora that she had spoken to Sir Anthony and so Cora was not to be worried. This had not really satisfied Cora, but Violet made it clear that Edith should not be grilled any further on this point _by anyone_, and there was an end to it. Sir Anthony would be leaving for the continent on Friday; there was no point in making any fuss.

Anthony came round to open the door for her, as always. She smiled at him as she snuggled into the front seat.

"Hello."

"Hello. It's such a lovely day, I thought we might go for a picnic, if you'd like."

"What a gorgeous idea. Where shall we go?"

"Wherever my lady wishes to go" he answered easing himself back into the driver's seat and realising that Edith was closer to him than ever…and that he couldn't do anything about it without manhandling her…and they were probably being watched. He darted an annoyed but amused glance at her as she smiled totally innocently at him, and he started the engine.

"This is your last day of freedom. I think you should decide where we go."

"Very well."

They drove in silence back to Locksley, to Edith's delight. Anthony steered the car around the house and on through the grounds to the old castle ruins beyond, where he parked.

"Are you hungry?" he teased.

"You know very well that I am _always_ hungry!"

"Yes. I have observed this in _very young people_ before. It's something to do with still growing, I think!"

She huffed at him and turned her head away in mock disdained hurt.

"And of course, nowadays the young have no respect for their elders either!" he muttered.

This time she punched him playfully in the tummy, and stole the picnic basket and began to unpack it.

"Also, they can be so violent!" Anthony gasped, theatrically clutching his stomach before lowering himself to the picnic blanket on the ground.

"Stop being silly and tell me whether you would prefer…" she looked inside the sandwiches "…cucumber, or cheese and tomato?"

"Both! I'm starving!"

"Yes. I have observed this in _very old people_ before!" she teased causing Anthony to look quite crestfallen. She leaned over and tickled him.

* * *

_._

After lunch they strolled arm in arm around the ruins. Anthony told Edith family tales about the castle which had been damaged in the Civil Wars and the building of the new house in Queen Anne's time. The weather, which had been glorious for the past few weeks was breaking, so when rainclouds threatened they packed everything back into the Rolls and drove back to the house.

* * *

_._

They were sitting in the library after dinner, staring into the fire by the light of a few lamps. Their mood had gradually become more serious over the course of the day, until now they were quiet and pensive.

"I hope you don't mind, but I have a small leaving present for you" Anthony said, still gazing into the grate. "A little something to remember me by over the next few months."

"That's…that's so kind, but you know I am going to think of you every day even without it?"

"I hoped you would." He gave her a sad smile, got up and walked over to his desk, picking up a small packet wrapped in paper. He brought it back to the chaise where they had been sitting together and placed it in her hands.

She smiled at him making his heart ache, and opened it. Inside she found a jewellery box, containing a necklace – a chain and a pendant of a heart-cut ruby surrounded by diamonds.

"Oh…oh Anthony! It's so gorgeous! Would you help me…?"

He took it from her hands and placed it around her slender neck, fastening it and then touching the back of her neck with his lips lightly.

"To remind you that you have my heart."

Edith looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

"I have a gift for you too; call it a good luck gift. I thought about what to give you for ever such a long time, because the trouble with actual _things_ is that they can get lost. So I don't want any argument from you about this, alright?"

Intrigued, Anthony replied "Alright."

"Promise?"

"I promise, sweet o…"

She cut off his words by gently kissing him. She felt him begin to withdraw, so she placed her hands around his head, caressing his hair but not attempting to pull him towards her. Her touch was enough.

For Anthony, it had taken only a moment to go from trying to prevent this kiss, to giving in completely to her. He _wanted_ to kiss her, worship her, and ravish her. The sensation of her hands in his hair was the last straw and he lost all thought, diving willingly into the ecstasy of it. Her lips, her tongue shyly seeking his, the way her caresses were changing with his encouragement and their deepening emotion from diffident to passionate and beyond. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, and gave himself up to being happier than he had ever been before in his life.

After many minutes their desperation eventually calmed, and they sat with their foreheads touching, their eyes closed, breathless.

"I love you" Edith murmured, not expecting Anthony to respond, but in a quiet voice, finally at peace with their love, he did.

"I love you too, my dearest darling."

"You could have me tonight, all of me, if you wanted."

The thought of it almost undid him.

"I would give anything, _anything_, for that, darling. Don't think I wouldn't want it with all my soul. But I can't. If I were to get you with child, do you think for a moment that your family would stand by you? And if I were then to be killed…"

Edith gave an involuntary sob, but Anthony continued.

"…if I were to be killed, do you think I could lay peacefully in my grave, that is assuming I even get one, knowing I had left you with my bastard?"

"But I would still love him or her, because they'd be all I had left of you."

He held her very closely then. He thought that was the loveliest thing anyone had ever said to him.

"When I said I wasn't going to kiss you until we were engaged, I said it was because first kisses were special."

"And it was, Anthony, it was!"

"I'm glad. But that was only one reason. The real reason, the reason I didn't mention, was because I knew, if I ever kissed you, I would not be able to stop." And he caught her mouth with his once more.

Very much later, still in his arms, Edith asked, "Will you be able to write to me, do you think?"

"I don't know yet. It depends on where I am posted, and what my duties are. But I will write whenever I have the chance, you can be sure of that!"

"Do you know yet where you will be sent to: France or Germany or somewhere else?"

"No, and even if I did, I wouldn't be able to tell you."

"Will I be allowed to write to you?"

"Yes, my sweet, although it may take some time for letters to find me, because it's likely I'll be moved around a lot, and things do get lost. You must not worry if you don't hear from me for months at a time."

Anthony's face creased with emotion; this next thing had to be said.

"The fact remains that I may not return."

He had known that she was strong; he also knew that she found it easier to express her emotions than he did living in the shadow of his stricter upbringing. But Edith was calm and dignified as she contemplated the worst. He was immensely proud of her.

"Yes, I know that. It is what I fear most. If you returned wounded I would give thanks that you came home at all. I mean that."

"I have asked, should the worst happen, that the Army sends the telegram to you here. That means that you would hear first, but also that you would have to tell my sister in London. If you would prefer that I didn't…"

"No!" She stopped him. "I am flattered that you would trust me with the responsibility. And I would prefer to know. Thank you, Anthony."

He drew a packet of papers from his desk.

"Everything you need is here: her address, the address of my solicitor and bank, and also the address at the War Office if you want to write to me."

Edith looked into his eyes, both bright with tears.

"I do love you so much, Anthony. Please come home."

"I'll do everything in my power, darling. But you must promise me that, if you should find someone else…"

Edith started to protest again, but Anthony shushed her gently.

"…if you find someone younger who can offer you more happiness than I can, you must promise me that you will take that opportunity firmly with both hands and not look back at me. Promise?"

Looking at him solemnly, Edith said "I promise, but only because I know it won't happen and I won't have to obey."

Anthony gave her his usual annoyed smile at her obstinacy, even while his heart basked in the sunshine of her assurances to him.

"Now, will you allow me to take you home so that I might get a good night's sleep dreaming of your intoxicating kisses? Tomorrow will be a very busy day for me."

She nodded, miserably.

"Will you allow me to come to the station to see you off?"

"We won't be able to say goodbye like this."

"I know" she whispered. "But I should like to come, anyway."

"Very well. The train is at ten o'clock. I'll come by around half past nine."

"When we are on the station platform, imagine we are actually here and no one is watching, so I can do this…" she said, pressing her body close to his and kissing him once more.

"_Oh, Edith…_"

* * *

_._

The morning ride to Downton Station was short. Anthony held Edith's hand in loving silence. Taylor, Anthony's chauffeur, saw to his small amount of luggage while they walked slowly onto the platform, full of civilians curiously watching the first man in uniform they had so far seen. The train arrived in a hiss of steam.

"We are saying goodbye as we did yesterday, in reality, in our heads, my love" Edith said, fighting to keep her voice steady "no one here to see us kiss each other and our souls entwined."

Anthony, for once the more emotional of them, merely nodded. He couldn't find the words. He held her hand tightly. She raised it to her lips and kissed his hand even though it was enclosed in his officer's leather glove. He had lost the battle with his tears and when she released her lips he kissed her hand fervently. The Station Master blew a whistle, Anthony relinquished her hand as though it was being pulled from his own body, and boarded the train. He leaned out of the window watching her until the train rounded a bend, and he was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

**_This chapter is mostly a selection of letters between Edith and Anthony during the first part of the war._**

* * *

_._

_He leaned out of the window watching her until the train rounded a bend, and he was gone, off to war._

_._

Edith opened the packet of papers Anthony had given her, once she had been able to stop weeping later that afternoon. She wanted to read something written in his handwriting, just to be near him that way. There was a sheet with all the contact details for Mrs Amelia Chetwood, Anthony's sister. Further sheets were also covered in Anthony's small neat hand detailing his solicitors and bankers both in Yorkshire and in London. She was expecting the last few sheets just to contain instructions on how to write to him via the War Office. What she also found was a letter.

_6th August 1914_

_My dearest, darling Edith,_

_I hope you find this soon. I wanted to say how much the last few days have meant to me. Even if you do find some other gentleman who can give you more than I ever could in the next two years, as I expect you will, I know that I have been blessed with this time when you have been there on my arm…__on my arm__ for heaven's sake!…and I could truly dream of being married to you. It has been almost paradise for me, and I thank you for it. The memory will fill me with warmth, pride, and courage in the days to come._

_It was 'almost' paradise because your smiles have filled me with a need for so much more, longings that I shouldn't even be mentioning to you if I were a true gentleman. Yet, as much as I want you to know that I love you, I also want you to know that I desire you. You have nearly convinced me that I am worthy of you. You have inspired me to __want__ to be worthy of you, and to fight for you._

_Until the __Allenbys__' party, I could not dare to believe that you might care for me, but you convinced me then that you did. Up until your parents' garden party, if you had decided you had wanted to break off our agreement because some young man had replaced me in your affections, I would have bowed out gracefully knowing __that that__ was only natural and right._

_But now…now you have filled me with hope, and with that hope has come a need to demonstrate to myself and to you that I can be everything you want in a husband and more; that I can truly deserve you. This is why I must serve my country. This is why I must ask you to put up with me going away. I hope you can understand this and forgive me._

_I love you._

_Your loving admirer_

_Anthony_

* * *

_._

_7th August 1914_

_My dearest, darling Anthony,_

_It was such a wonderful surprise to find your lovely letter this afternoon after I saw you off on the train. I had shed a few tears after you'd gone, and was feeling a little fragile without you so it was a great comfort to find it._

_You must not worry about me. Of course I understand why you had to volunteer, and I am so proud of you, my love. Things are settled between us for the moment. You have done a fantastic job of boosting my confidence. Our agreement is in place and we both will have jobs to do now for the war effort._

_Papa can't understand why his old regiment will not accept him back for active service, especially now he's heard about you joining the Intelligence Corps. I suspect he will apply to join the IC too and you might meet up with him in due course! Meanwhile, my sister Sybil is adamant that she is going to qualify as a nurse. I am not sure what I shall do yet, but there will certainly be a niche for me somewhere. There seems to be so much to be done._

_I can't tell you how happy it made me that you are less troubled by the thought of our liaison (I'm not sure how to describe it, as we are not officially engaged yet). You have made me the happiest of women just by agreeing to wait and see. I know you deserve me; I'm not so sure that I deserve you, my handsome hero._

_I love you so much, my darling Anthony. Be well and safe for me._

_Edith_

* * *

_._

_10th September 1914_

_My dearest, darling Edith,_

_I wrote my last letter in the morning the day before I left…before your ravishing parting gift to me, which I carry with me in my heart. I may salute the Union Flag like every British soldier, but it is your caress cherished in my very soul that is my true standard, the colours to which I owe my real allegiance, my beloved lady's favour. I have had to come out to war, but I am unafraid because I have the memory of your kiss upon my lips._

_I know that this letter will be passed into your hands; your fingers will touch this paper and I envy it. You will stroke it long before you caress me next, and I cannot help myself. I kiss the letter hoping that you will read these words with your lips. We can kiss by proxy thus. How I long for you! In the dark night hearing the distant guns, when I am about my missions, I think of you asleep in England and long to be beside you. If God is merciful, and this war is short, and you are still agreeable, perhaps I will be granted that yet. I shall dream of it tonight. Shall we agree to meet in our dreams? I'll wait for you sitting on the crescent moon; come find me there and I'll show you round the stars as once I promised you._

_I love you._

_Your loving Anthony_

* * *

_._

_5th May 1915_

_My dearest, darling Edith,_

_You can have no idea how much it means to me to have you to write to. I haven't heard from you recently, and I suspect that the Army are having difficulty keeping up with my unit. We've moved three times in the last fortnight alone. Things are not going too well here. We have a very important mission on and I'm leading and planning a large part of it. Obviously I can't tell you much (and it would be censored if I did), but it makes me doubt…doubt that any of this entire war makes any sense at all. There are good, honest, decent men on both sides. Not just British and German, but French, Belgian, Bulgarian, Russian, Italian, and many more._

_I keep thinking of my friends from when I was a student in Heidelberg. Are they out there in the enemy trenches? What are they thinking? If I was confronted with them, would I be able to fire at them, kill them? I don't suppose I would. Do these thoughts make me less of a good soldier? I dare say they do. Am I guilty of treason? Should I be taken out and shot as a traitor? Probably. But if I had to shoot my friends, how could I stand before my god on Judgement Day and explain why I did it? If I had not met you, my answer would be simple: I would not hurt them and instead let them kill me and be done with it. But I want to come home to you, my lovely Edith. I want to come home and be able to look you in the eyes and say truthfully that I fought with honour._

_But it seems that neither side is fighting honourably. This is not a straightforward war. The Germans have used gas and I fully expect our boffins to be thinking up something in retaliation. I may become involved. I fear I will not be able to stand the sight of myself in the mirror should I survive. But then I think of you. I try to believe the propaganda: what might I be capable of should a Turk or Bulgarian try to attack you? I would tear him limb from limb rather than see any man harm a hair on your beautiful head._

_My darling, oh my darling. I dare not ask it of you, as I cannot do it myself, but I pray you, believe in me. Tell me I am not a monster._

_I love you._

_Your loving Anthony_

* * *

_._

_30th November 1915_

_My darling Anthony,_

_Your letters are heavenly balm. They tell me you were alive when they left you. They bear words of love, and assure me that you still love me. Your letters drive me mad, mad with love for you, each one more than the last. Every letter is like having your arms around me, and your kiss on my mouth, and your voice whispering soothing murmurs of love._

_Somewhere on the other side of this dark, wide night, you are thinking of me as I dream of you. I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills and muddy fields I would have to cross to reach you, to be with you, to comfort you and love you, even if we were surrounded by war._

_I read your letters over and over. I grow faint reading them, and I belong to you more and more. Every page is like a petal fallen from the flower of your soul, sweet and strong and true. You are not a monster to doubt the morality of war, any war let alone this one._

_Downton is now a military hospital and I am engaged in looking after the non-medical care of our patients, all of whom are officers. We have had several who were gassed earlier in the year. I have seen horrible things, Anthony, and I am sure that you will have witnessed things a hundred times worse. This war is different from all previous ones, isn't it? It isn't just bloody and awful: it __dehumanises__ people and treats them as bits of a machine, and leaves them just as bits. What I'm trying to say is…you aren't the only one questioning what is going on. It isn't just you and me. _The Times_ has been raising issues and there have been debates in Parliament about the brutality used._

_It has been over a year since you left England. Are you not __due__ some leave yet? I long to see you._

_I love you,_

_Yours loving Edith_

* * *

_._

_3rd June 1916_

_My dearest, darling Edith,_

_I have time for just a few words. I would love to come home on leave, and I have requested two weeks around the time of your birthday. I haven't yet heard whether it has been granted though. If it is I'll try to send you a telegram to warn you._

_The work is becoming more and more difficult. The Germans are not stupid and each time we carry out a mission they learn more about our techniques and pre-empt what we might do the next time._

_I am sorry that you and everyone else at Downton have been dragged into the war effort, but perhaps it helps to have something practical to do?_

_Yesterday I received a letter from you dated from last November! It makes me appreciate how efficient the good old GPO was! Still, your words are like the shooting stars I see at night on a mission; they fall to earth as your kisses on my lips blessing me…wishing me luck. I long to hold you in my arms again. I miss your __scent__, and the way you have of pushing one lock of your hair behind your ear. When Fritz finally puts a bullet in me, that is what I shall hope for…that I might report at the Pearly Gates and be allowed to wait for you until you arrive. Then I will sweep you up in my arms and never, ever let you go again._

_I'm sorry this is such a disjointed letter – I've been writing it in between sorties. I'll write again soon._

_I love you_

_Anthony_


	11. Chapter 11

Carson found Robert in the library.

"Yes, what is it?"

"I'm sorry, my lord, but…well, a telegram has just arrived for Lady Edith. I thought you would prefer to take it to her yourself."

"A telegram? For Edith?" Shocked though Robert was, he managed to thank Carson for his thoughtfulness before taking the brown envelope.

"Lady Edith is upstairs, my lord."

_Who?_ thought Robert as he climbed the stairs. Who was so close to Edith, close enough that the Army would…? With shame, Robert realised that he didn't know, unless…no, surely not?

He waited for Edith to finish what she was doing before catching her coming out of one of the officers' rooms.

"Edith, may I have a word?"

"Of course, Papa."

"In private; perhaps in your room?"

It was then that Edith noticed her father's expression. She went white and murmured "no". Robert placed a comforting hand on her arm, but still Edith staggered and had to sit down on the nearest chair. Robert kept his arm around her, letting her have a moment to compose herself. After a few deep breaths Edith stood and led the way to her bedchamber. Once there she sat down again, but very upright and controlled, and held out her hand for what she knew Robert had for her. Robert was so very proud of her bravery. He gave her the telegram which she then held, unable to open it now that it was physically in front of her.

"Would you like me to open it for you?" Robert asked gently.

"Yes please Papa." Her voice was quiet, breaking.

Robert tore the envelope and withdrew the message, giving it to Edith without reading it. She unfolded it, expecting the worst, but crumpled into tears of relief when she read:

**TO LADY EDITH CRAWLEY, DOWNTON ABBEY, DOWNTON, YORKSHIRE**

**FROM HM WAR OFFICE**

**REGRET TO INFORM YOU MAJOR SIR ANTHONY STRALLAN DSC POSTED MIA IN FRANCE ON 30TH JUNE 1916 STOP**

"He's missing, but nothing…worse" she gasped. "There's still hope." She handed him the slip of paper.

"Yes" he said quietly, trying to keep his pessimism under control for Edith's sake, "a slim chance, but a chance. We must hope." He hugged his daughter.

"Edith, why did they send this to you? Are you…married?" His voice was uncertain, but gentle and caring.

"No Papa. He wouldn't hear of it before he went away."

"But he made a promise to you? Is that it?"

"We have had an agreement of sorts since 1914 yes, but not an engagement as such. Granny knows all about it; she found out accidentally and she can tell you. But Anthony didn't want me to make it public in case…ha!...in case I found someone else while he was away. He thought…never mind what he thought. I always knew there wouldn't be anyone else for me, only him."

"Ah. I'm so sorry, my dear. But all hope is not yet lost. Would you like me to tell your mother and sisters…and your grandmother?"

"If you would Papa, thank you. I…I don't think I feel up to that at the moment."

"Why don't you give yourself a day or two…" he began.

"Thank you, but no. I think I would prefer to keep busy. I think it would help. I will have a cup of tea and a proper cry now, and then I'm sure I'll be fine."

"My brave girl. I'll ask Carson to send some up here for you" Robert said as he left.

_Oh Anthony! My love, my life! Where are you? Please be alive, please be alright!_

* * *

_. _

She had her cry; she drank her tea. Then she looked out Mrs Amelia Chetwood's address in the packet of papers Anthony had given her. Edith was not going to write to her; she'd already decided that she was going to put a telephone call through and tell her, as soon as possible, all that she knew of what had happened to her brother. No, Edith needed to see Anthony's handwriting, to have that connection with him before she broke the terrible news to the only other woman in the world who loved him as much as she did.

When she rang, Amelia's butler answered. Edith gave her name and he went to fetch her as Edith suffered a tense wait. She heard a woman's voice muffled by distance but still raised in fright and shock, followed by the sound of someone running to the telephone.

"Lady Edith! Tell me quickly, is it…the worst?"

"No, Mrs Chetwood, Anthony's missing in action. So it's not as bad as it could be. There is a chance that he's been taken prisoner or even that he's just not been able to get back to HQ with all the shifting of the lines. He might be with another unit."

"Oh, thank god." There was a pause as Amelia sniffled. "When did you hear?"

"I received the telegram about an hour ago. I wanted to let you know as soon as possible, at least as soon as I felt able to."

"My dear, I hate to think what that was like…I'm so grateful to you that it was sent to you and not to me. You have no idea! I don't think I could have stood it…receiving a telegram not knowing what news it contained. You are very brave, but then Anthony always said you were a remarkable girl."

Edith was overwhelmed. Amelia had her brother's open charm and unassuming kindness.

"Thank you" she whispered. "I'm sure he would be proud of us both."

"Anytime you want to get away, you would be more than welcome here, my dear. Just say the word! I don't get up to Locksley as often as I'd like because of my husband's duties here, you know."

"That's so kind. I do hope I can visit sometime. But there's so much to do here now Downton is a hospital."

"Of course, of course. Do keep in touch…for Anthony's sake. Goodbye, my dear, goodbye."

Edith replaced the receiver and searched for her handkerchief, letting the tears fall freely for a moment. When she gathered herself together again and stood up, she realised that she hadn't been alone in the outside hall. Cora and Mary were watching her with tears in their own eyes.

"Your father has just told us. We're so, so sorry, my darling." Cora hugged Edith, and Mary tentatively put her arms around them both. Cora looked into Edith's face as she declared "You mustn't give up hope…I know you'll be brave for him."

"I will Mama."

"Who were you calling just then, my dear?"

"I had to tell his sister. Anthony asked me to if…if something like this ever happened."

"Oh, this dreadful war!" Cora almost shouted. "You are too young…you're all of you too young to have to go through all this!"

Mary rubbed Cora's back and held Edith's shoulder.

"Edith, I don't know if I could be as brave as you if I ever have to go through this. If Matthew…I…oh, I just don't have the words!"

Instead she hugged Edith. For the first time in their lives, but not the last, the two sisters were truly on the same side.

* * *

_._

When Violet arrived later in the day, Robert intercepted her to tell her the news. When she saw Edith she hugged her granddaughter. Finally she looked Edith hard in the eyes and said "In my experience, Strallans are stronger than they look, and tougher than people give them credit for. And Crawleys do not give up hope. We will be strong until we hear more."

* * *

_._

About a fortnight afterwards, Carson came into the drawing room asking for Edith.

"There's a telephone call for you, my lady, from Mrs Chetwood."

Edith thanked him and made her way outside. It wasn't unusual for Amelia to call Edith or vice versa. They were both worried and it was comforting for them to talk about Anthony.

"Mrs Chetwood, hello."

"Hello my dear. Are you sitting down?"

Suddenly Edith knew this wasn't a social call; Amelia had news. Edith's legs gave way under her as she sat.

"I am now" she said huskily.

"I've received a letter from Anthony. It was sent before the mission on which he went missing. There's another letter enclosed with it addressed to you. Do you want me to read it to you, or would you prefer me to send it to you at Downton?"

"What does your letter say, if I may ask? That might help me decide for the best." Edith wasn't really thinking straight.

"He says that he's sorry that…" She had to stop. Edith heard her sob. "…he says he's sorry that he couldn't come back, and that the family name died with him. He says that it was the luck of the draw. Everyone's name was put in a hat and his was one of two drawn to go on this mission. They knew it was probably a one-way ticket, and so dangerous he was allowed to write a last letter, but only had time to sort out one and that's why he put a letter to you with the one to me. He says he's left me half of his money, but that the house and all the rest is for you. Oh, my dear…oh Anthony, my poor, darling little brother!"

Edith wasn't really listening any more. She murmured her thanks to Amelia and told her something polite that was meant kindly, and asked her to post his letter on to her. Words were of no use at a time like this. And the only words she really wanted were his.

* * *

_._

The letter arrived two days after.

_29__th__ June 1916_

_Goodbye, my dearest, darling Edith, for tomorrow I die. I know that it must be sometime tomorrow, my own dearly beloved, and my heart is still so heavy with love I have not yet told, hidden gold from love's new world, never to be shared or enjoyed now, and I die without telling you! No more shall my eyes drink the sight of you like wine, never more, with a look that is a kiss, may I follow the sweet grace of you, or behold your smiles as radiant as the sun. And my heart cries out 'goodbye, my dear, my dearest darling, my heart, my treasure, my angel, my love, my sweet one.'_

_I am never away from you. Even now, I will not leave you. In another world, I shall still be that one who loves you beyond measure, loves you with a love raging and blessing that outlives all men, a love that will live on and on._

_I mourn that I never was able to propose to you, or marry you, or make you mine. It was not to be._

_I love you_

_Anthony_

* * *

_._

Three months after that, Edith received a letter from the War Office. Anthony had been awarded a Distinguished Service Cross earlier in the war for a brilliant bit of quick-thinking, combining what he knew from his role as an intelligence officer and being able to take command of a group of French soldiers who had lost their Commanding Officer, saving dozens of British and French lives. Now he had been recommended for a Distinguished Service Order for successfully carrying out his last dangerous mission, which couldn't as yet be discussed. Edith was assumed to be his next of kin as hers was the name registered with the Intelligence Corps. Therefore they sent the medal to her. Edith, of course, rang Amelia and insisted that she should have the medal. Amelia, of course, insisted that Anthony would want Edith to have it.

None of this made as much impact on Edith as the mention within the body of the letter that she was being contacted because '**_Major_ _Sir Anthony Strallan DSC is missing in action, presumed dead._**'

* * *

_**Thank you all so much for continuing to follow this tale. There will be one more chapter set during the war - from Anthony's point of view - and then we are back to Yorkshire to put all right. I am trying to rewrite parts of my planned story to accommodate pleadings in the reviews. That's the difference between me and Fellowes: I listen to what my readers want, and I care about them enough to want to give them what they want!  
**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**First of all, a tiny bit of history.**_

_**Cyrano de Bergerac fought at the siege of Arras in 1640. This is depicted in Rostand's play in the fourth act. So, to mirror this, I have Anthony serving in the preparations for the Battle of Arras which was meant to push the German lines of the Western Front back as the main Spring offensive of 1917. The British attack was aimed to the east of the town of Arras. One of the commanders was General Edmund Allenby; I am imagining that Anthony's friend, Edward Allenby, is a cousin of his.**_

_**Since the previous Autumn, the British had been constructing a network of tunnels so troops could reach their point of attack secretly and safely. Additionally, they dug attack tunnels underneath or near to the German lines packed with explosives which were to be blown up just before the attack happened although not all of them were. This is the ungentlemanly behaviour that I have Anthony deplore.**_

_**The Germans were aware of this tunnelling plan but not where the tunnels were, and were actively trying to find them so they could blow them up before they could be used. Hence the need for Anthony's counterplan described in this chapter.**_

_**Now read on…**_

* * *

_._

The Colonel pulled two pieces of paper from the hat. He read the names aloud.

"Ross and…Strallan."

Anthony closed his eyes, and mourned. If only…

His application for leave had been approved. He really had believed he would manage to get home in time for Edith's twenty-first birthday. If her letters were anything to go by, all would go as he had dreamed for the last two years. His imaginings were always a little different, and always basically the same.

He'd ask if she still felt the same about him as she had all that time ago in the Allenbys' library. She would say that she did, making his heart almost burst with joy. She might say more: her letters were no longer those of a shy nineteen-year-old. They were the letters of a confident young woman. Then he would go down on one knee and, breathlessly, he would ask her to be his wife, and she would answer 'yes', with that radiant smile that melted him. He would then rise, take her in his arms and kiss her as deeply and as passionately as he had fantasized all this time that he'd been away. Certainly he'd kiss her more confidently than he had done that evening in his library at Locksley. He might allow himself a few more liberties than then too…they would be engaged after all. So he might kiss her neck or gently place a quivering hand on her delectable breast. She would sigh or perhaps even moan, and they'd kiss some more. He'd tell her how very much he loved her, how much he had dreamed of this, how it had helped him through the war. She might reciprocate. They would kiss a little more. Or a lot more. Or perhaps, if he totally forgot himself…

None of it would happen now. After two years of waiting and hoping, he was being sent on a suicide mission that he had helped plan within days…_days!_…of Edith's birthday. _Better to be killed now, rather than after you've proposed and married her and then leave the poor girl a widow_, he thought.

The Colonel was saying some 'consoling' words that Anthony didn't register. He and Ross had an hour to put their affairs in order, write home, gather their effects, see the chaplain if they wished. Then they would be briefed and the mission would commence. Anthony gathered his few possessions, then wrote the two hardest letters of his life. He found he run out of envelopes and was out of time, so he put Edith's in with Amelia's and hoped the letters found their way to the right person.

* * *

_._

"This is where the tunnels are being built, with more planned here, here, and here." Anthony was presenting to Ross and the chain of command, pointing to a dog-eared map hung on the wall behind him.

"We've already lost several dozen men, good men, engineers and soldiers, because of the German counter-offensive. We need to distract them from where we are really building the tunnels. This mission will plant false plans on the body of any officer of the rank of Captain or above, or any of our sappers, that we find in their newly-gained ground in and around the town. With all the fighting that's been happening recently I'm afraid we will not have to look far. There hasn't been enough time for the medics and stretcher-bearers to collect them. We then have to hope that the plans are found and believed, leading the German sappers away from our chaps."

Anthony sat down, and his Colonel took over.

"This will mean that you two need to get under no man's land, behind the German lines and operate for one or two hours planting these false plans in Arras. It is very likely that you will run into patrols, but with skill you may be able to avoid being noticed. I have, as usual, asked you to wear your uniforms because if you are caught there will be no reason for them to consider you as agents rather than as ordinary soldiers trapped by the advance. I need not remind you that agents in plain clothes are regarded as spies and summarily shot. So don't get separated from your uniforms! We will give you covering fire when you emerge from this tunnel, here" he pointed at the map "at 01:00 hours in roughly 45 minutes' time. You will have support from Captain Wood and Sergeant Colvin. They will stay at the mouth of the tunnel until daybreak, at which point we will have to retreat and seal the tunnel to stop it from being discovered. It is each man for himself if he can get back after then. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Well, good luck, and thank you. If you succeed in this plan, it may change the course of the Spring offensive and save hundreds of lives. Well done, Strallan, for suggesting it. Dismissed."

* * *

_._

The tunnel was long; it went under all of no man's land, the German lines, and beyond into waste ground, newly captured by the enemy. The support team had to break through the last few feet of earth to allow Anthony and Ross out. Captain Wood shook their hands.

"Good luck. See you both back here in a couple of hours."

"Thank you, Wood" Anthony answered although he saw the look of hopelessness in Wood's eyes. He didn't believe they would make it, any more than Anthony did himself.

The dark outside was so dense that neither Anthony nor Ross could see anything for a few moments. Pausing to let their eyes adjust, they heard the covering fire from the Allied lines drawing attention away from where they were.

Silently, Anthony shook Ross's hand and they separated, to cover different parts of the battlefield alone.

After an hour Anthony had planted almost all of his plans. It had broken his heart to see so many men and officers lying in the mud. If he could only get these last plans placed and get back to the tunnel entrance, perhaps he might survive…

He heard gunfire, and looked round. Ross was running in his direction pursued by a patrol. Ross stumbled a few yards away from him. Without a second thought, Anthony ran out, grabbed him, and pulled him behind a wall.

"Are you hit?" Anthony hissed.

"No, but where the hell is the tunnel entrance? I've lost my bearings!" Ross's voice betrayed utter terror.

In the pitch blackness, they could hear the patrol spreading out to search for them.

"Follow the line of my arm. The tunnel is thirty yards in that direction, behind that tree stump. See it?"

"Yes, just."

"You go first, I'll follow" Anthony ordered.

Ross crouched down and made a run for it, with Anthony on his heels. They were half way when a voice shouted "Halt!" followed quickly by a rifle-crack and Ross fell, groaning in pain. Anthony stopped and put Ross' arm around his shoulders and carried him to the tunnel entrance, handing the wounded man to Wood. Simultaneously, there was another shot and Anthony fell.

"Sir?" cried Wood.

"My leg!" Despite the pain, Anthony was aware that Wood was beginning to panic. He could hear it in his breathing. Quickly, he assessed the situation, knowing what he had to do.

"Listen, Wood, you can't make it with two wounded men. Take Ross and get out of here and blow up the tunnel to stop Fritz following. That's an order. Now go!"

Wood hesitated for an agonized second before turning and running. Anthony tried to stand and follow under his own steam but immediately he was hit by a second bullet just above his hip. He was punched down onto the ground. He realised that in the darkness the patrol could see very little, and standing now, even if he could manage it, would be an invitation to be shot to ribbons. Anthony decided he had to wait for it to become light before the patrol could see that he was surrendering, so he could give himself up safely, and survive.

* * *

_._

Heine Kuhn was seventeen and terrified. He has joined the army two months before, and he'd never fired a gun in anger, and didn't want to do so. When he came round a wall and saw this enormously tall figure on the ground in front of him covered in mud, at first he thought it was a monster from hell itself. Then he realised it was one of the soldiers they were pursuing. His training, still fresh in his mind, automatically took over. He lunged at the English soldier, catching him in the right shoulder with his bayonet. The man gave a pained cry. Heine could see him better now as it was getting on towards dawn. To his amazement the Englishman addressed him in perfect, cultured German.

"I surrender, but I need medical help. Please?"

At that very moment, Wood and the team set off the charges to destroy the tunnel before the Germans could use it for their own advantage. It made Heine shriek and, without having withdrawn the bayonet, he fired his rifle without meaning to. The bullet sliced through Anthony's shoulder at point blank range, and he passed out.

* * *

_._

When he woke, he was in a German military hospital. His wounds had been patched up roughly by an overworked field surgeon, but they weren't bleeding. His first thought was of Edith. The army would send her the dreaded telegram and she would think he was dead. She would mourn, but it would pass, and some other man would enter her life. All because of his wretched luck. He whispered her name.

"Ah, you are awake."

He looked round to see a German officer waiting patiently by his bedside.

"Now, Herr Major, we will have a little talk."

* * *

_._

During the interrogation, Anthony told them nothing despite the pain, and the taunting offer of pain relief if he told his captors more about the plans they had found on him and several of his comrades. After, a medical orderly was permitted to bring Anthony a little thin soup, but no analgesic.

"Where did you learn to speak German so well?"

"Heidelberg" Anthony replied, sipping the indifferent but welcome broth.

"The university?"

"Yes."

"I wanted to go to university, but my father couldn't afford it. I had to enter the family business."

"What was that?" Anthony asked politely, but also because the conversation distracted him a little from his wounds.

"Undertakers!" The orderly laughed mirthlessly at the irony. "My name's Klaus by the way."

"My name's Anthony…or Anton if you would find it easier. I'm pleased to meet you Klaus."

* * *

_._

The interrogations continued. Anthony gave a convincing performance of a man ground down until he could hold out no longer before he confirmed that the plans the Germans had found were maps showing where the British were constructing battle tunnels. Satisfied, the intelligence officers then left him alone to recuperate. When he was well enough, he would be sent to a POW camp for the rest of the war.

Additionally, Anthony was now allowed the rights of prisoners of war, including writing home. This was difficult because of the wound to his right shoulder. The medics seemed to think that the damage would not be permanent, but just now Anthony found it almost impossible to write legibly. Anthony was very grateful when Klaus offered to write for him.

"The first one should be to my sister." Anthony felt it was his duty to think of Amelia first.

"You know you are allowed two a month?" said Klaus.

"Oh that is good. I'm…I need to send two."

"Right. Go ahead."

"To Lady Edith Crawley, Downton Abbey, Downton, Yorkshire, England…"

* * *

_._

_**In actual fact, what happened was the opposite to this: the **__**Germans**__** managed to capture the **__**actual Allied**__** battle plans. In the words of the military historian Richard Holmes, "when the French infantry attacked on 16 April, into icy rain which turned into sleet, they were cut to ribbons". The French alone lost 100,000 men. "It is not a battle that features prominently in British folk memory, but it should. Its average daily loss rate, between 9 April and 17 May [1917], of just over 4,000 men, was higher than that of the Somme."**_

_**I apologise for the length of this chapter. I think Anthony's war experience is far more important than canon allows. In this, I wholeheartedly agree with **_**websandwhiskers **_**( see archiveofourown works / 678913 / chapters / 1244121 ). But this story is mostly a romance, so I wanted to contain the war part within a single chapter.**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**I'm so sorry for the delay - small domestic crisis: my wife's lost her job. Does anyone want to employ a hard-working, pleasant ex-civil servant with a brain? Apply within.**_

* * *

_._

Edith sat staring out at the trees of Downton. Autumn storms had brought down most of the dead leaves and one or two branches. The wind was quieter this morning, but it was still raining.

You've been gone over two years, and missing in action for four months. We were meant to be engaged by now. I will never give up on you, Anthony. Wherever you are…I love you.

Having so spoken to Anthony, as she did every morning, she went down to breakfast. There was a letter for her in a hand she did not recognise. She opened it, read the first line, frowned, looked at the signature, and let out a loud, shocked cry.

"Edith?" asked Robert.

She was beginning to cry.

"It's from Anthony. He's alive!"

Sybil and Mary jumped up and hugged her, while asking questions.

"Where is he?"

"What happened to him?"

"Is he alright?"

Robert intervened, leading Sybil and Mary from the room.

"Let Edith read the letter and then she'll be able to tell you. Come, girls, give her some peace."

_._

_1st October 1916_

_My dearest, darling Edith,_

_Please don't fret, my sweet one. There is nothing in this letter but good news. I have been taken POW, and I am safe. You may have been told that I became separated from my unit after a mission. I was wounded then captured, but I am recovering fast in a German military hospital. I cannot write at the moment because my right arm is wounded. The ward orderly, whose name is Klaus, is kindly writing from dictation for me._

_Klaus is kindness itself and I am getting better every day under his care. Soon I will be well enough to be transferred to a POW camp. When I get there I will write again to let you know how you can respond, that is, if you would like to. I know you are very busy with your work at Downton's military hospital._

_I had better make this letter a short one; I am only allowed to write two letters a month. This time, though, I must also write to Amelia._

_I hope you have remembered your promise to me. If you have found someone else, do not be afraid to tell me._

_I love you._

_Anthony_

[Then in German]

_PS – Meine Dame Edith,_

_Baron von Strallan is one of the kindest and most honourable gentlemen I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. He makes light of his injuries, but they have been serious. He was bayoneted in the right shoulder and shot three times. He was questioned for over a month by our officers. During this time analgesia and all other rights, including writing to you, were denied him. He talks about you often, and it is obvious that he is very deeply in love with you. If you have any feelings left for him at all, I pray you, tell him. His spirit is broken and I worry for him. He needs to know you are well and that you are waiting for him. He does not know I have added these words.  
_

_Yours humbly, Klaus Steiner_

_._

"Papa!"

Edith found the rest of the family in the library awaiting news.

"My dear girl." He hugged her. "Tell us. Tell us the news."

"He's safe. He was wounded, but he says he's getting better."

She passed the letter around for everyone to read.

"I don't know what the postscript says. I can only understand a word here and there."

"My German's very rusty" said Robert.

"Perhaps one of the officers can help?" said Sybil.

"Let's ask" chirped Edith, who could hardly contain her joy.

* * *

_.  
_

They did find an officer who could read German. He looked at Edith strangely, as though assessing her, before telling her what Klaus had written. Edith's face changed, even as she thanked the man and walked away in a daze, Sybil still holding her by the arm.

"They both say he is getting better."

"Physically, yes" Edith replied quietly. "I know Anthony Strallan. I know how he is prone to taking too much responsibility for things that normal people would consider outside their control or influence. Klaus says 'his spirit is broken'…"

"I think anyone injured to that extent and then taken prisoner would be forgiven for being affected. Once the war is over and he's home, and you can be with him, I'm sure he'll be fine. At least he's out of danger now." Sybil, ever the optimist, tried to put a good light on it.

"Yes, he's out of danger" Edith repeated with a smile, relieved at that at least.

* * *

_._

_22__nd__ October 1916_

_Darling Anthony,_

_Your letter lifted the night of despair from my heart. It is such a relief to know you are alive and recovering, and will soon be out of danger for the rest of the war. And when it is over you can come home to me! I haven't been able to stop thanking heaven for its mercy; it has been difficult for me to stop crying with joy. For the last four months I have tried to keep my spirits up and not fall into the trap of believing that you had been killed. But I knew that if you had been, I would have known; I would have felt it. The world would have been a colder, crueller place without you._

_I hope that your wounds are healing as you say, and you are not just trying to put a brave face on it for my sake. How I wish I could be there to nurse you back to health. At least then we could be together, and that is all I long for._

_I must tell you that you were awarded the DSO for your last mission. The War Office won't tell me your citation yet; it is still classified, but they sent the medal to me. When you come home it will be the first thing I do – bring it to Locksley and pin it to you myself._

_You ask me if I have kept my promise. I have. I look at each of the officers here at Downton, and I have found none that compare to you. I love you so much, my Anthony. I will write again soon._

_I love you, always,_

_Edith_

_._

Anthony read the letter and crumbled into tears. How was he ever going to tell her? How could he put words around the awful, grotesque things that he had witnessed…? He wasn't fit to live any more, let alone be the object of beautiful Lady Edith's affections.

_._

_14__th__ December 1916_

_My dear Lady Edith,_

_Thank you for your kind letter and for your thoughtful wishes. You have always been very considerate towards me. I pray that you will do this one last thing for me: forget me. Find some young man who hasn't let war mar his soul, and love him as he and you deserve. Don't write any more to me: it hurts too much. Please keep the DSO or give it to my sister as you prefer._

_Be happy._

_Anthony_

* * *

_._

Edith wrote every fortnight from the end of 1916 until Armistice Day nearly two years later. Anthony received the letters, read them, cherished them, but only rarely responded. He always hoped that the next one might mention some young captain or lieutenant but they never did, and he was always guiltily relieved that they didn't. Little by little he slid into a cold hell of unhopefulness. So much so, that when the Armistice was declared it took some while for it's implications to sink in properly, by which time the British prisoners were on their way home. They reached Calais before the end of November, and were in Dover by the beginning of December. It was all too much for a man still suffering self-accusations and nightmares that appeared to have settled into his brain for life. After over four years of being on the continent and speaking bilingually it was all so strange. One of the officers in charge of operations and repatriations at Dover spotted Anthony just staring at signs in English.

"You alright, sir?"

"Nein…sorry, no, it's odd…is all" Anthony responded.

The officer was taken aback by a German-speaking English major and called for his Commanding Officer. The next thing Anthony knew, he was being led off the train at Charing Cross and escorted to the Special Neurological Hospital for Officers, Kensington.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Apologies for the delay (again!). A warning: Anthony talks about his war experiences in this chapter.**_

* * *

_._

Edith rang the War Office every day from the Armistice. Eventually there was some good news: Anthony was in London at a military hospital for officers. She insisted that the official gave her the name of the hospital: she wasn't surprised when she was told where he was bearing in mind what Anthony's letters had been like over the last year. When she put the call through she got the medical clerk.

"Yes, Major Strallan is here at present, but his consultant is discouraging visitors until he has been fully assessed."

"Oh" Edith was disappointed, but again not surprised. Everything about trying to get in touch with Anthony was an uphill struggle it seemed. "May I at least send him a Christmas present?"

"That should be fine, Lady Edith, as long as you don't send alcohol: that's not permitted."

So Edith sent Anthony the biggest, most expensive box of chocolates that Fortnum & Mason could supply. At the same time she wrote to him once more.

* * *

_._

"I don't really know why you are here, Major Strallan" said Mr Morgan, a consultant at the Kensington Neurological Hospital for Officers. "Do you?"

"No, doctor" Anthony's answer was polite, but not above a whisper, as usual.

"Perhaps you'd be kind enough to tell me about your service?"

"I served in the Intelligence Corps; I'm not supposed to tell anyone anything, even now. And I didn't."

"You didn't tell anything to whom?" the doctor asked gently, sensing something of significance.

"The German officer when I was first captured."

"Do you know when that was?"

"1916." Anthony paused. "What year is it now?"

* * *

_._

"Well, at least he's got used to speaking mainly in English again. That will help him reintegrate" stated Honeyman, the Chief Consultant, to Morgan.

"I fear that's going to be difficult for him. There's something I can't fathom. Something he's not telling me."

"He's clever; a blunt, dull brain isn't sharp enough to hurt itself. Stupidity has saved many a man from madness" observed Honeyman. "Why don't you order up his record? It might give you a clue."

Morgan did so; what he read made him wince.

* * *

_._

_15__th__ December 1918_

_My sweet Anthony,_

_I am so pleased to hear that you are back in England, even if you can't come home to Locksley just yet. I think of you often and I long to see you. Do let me know when your doctors will permit visitors. I remembered that you have a liking for sweet things, so I've sent you a small present. I hope you enjoy them. Merry Christmas!_

_I love you,_

_Edith_

_PS – I have kept my promise, but there is still no one for me but you. I do not believe there ever will be._

* * *

_._

"Would you care for a chocolate, doctor? I seem to have a few to spare" offered Anthony.

"Good grief, that's the biggest box of chocolates I've ever seen!"

"Lady Edith is very generous."

"Yes? Who's she?" Morgan asked through a mouth full of chocolate.

"She's…she's…"

_Silence._

"Is she your fiancée?"

"Well…"

_Silence._

"Do you love her?"

"I did…oh god I do, but she…I don't deserve her, not now."

"Heavens man, why not?"

_Silence._

_That's getting me nowhere_ thought Morgan.

"Would you be kind enough to tell me about your time in Heidelberg, Sir Anthony. I've always wanted to visit."

"It was wonderful."

_Silence._

"What did you study?"

"Engineering."

_Silence._

"Why?"

"I read English at Cambridge. I thought I should try something that would be of a bit more practical use while I was over there. I wasn't aiming to taking the degree after all."

"Has it been of use to you?"

"Yes, I believe it has."

_Silence._

Morgan had already discovered that Strallan preferred to be left in silence whenever possible. He kept his answers to any queries short and to the point.

"Did you make many friends?"

_Silence._

___Silence._

_Ah_ thought Morgan, _I've hit a nerve._

"Sir Anthony?"

"Ah…yes, it's the culture there you know, student societies and so forth."

"I daresay you felt very awkward…being drawn into a war with a nation you were familiar with and liked."

_Silence._

"Who was it?"

"P..pardon?"

"Who did you meet?"

Anthony bowed his head and cried. After a kind pause, Morgan prompted him again.

"Wolfgang von Brunther. He was…president of the fencing society, he sang beautifully in a lovely, rich tenor…was particularly good at his namesake's music, he could drink anyone under the table while still being enormous fun, and he was kind and charming. I'd never had a brother…but Wolfie…"

_Silence._

"And where did you meet him?" asked Morgan.

"He was the officer who interrogated me at the military hospital…it seemed like it went on forever…"

"You weren't given any medication, I believe?"

"No and he…" Anthony couldn't stop the tears; "…if I didn't talk enough he would push his swagger stick into one of my wounds and…"

"Oh god! That explains why they healed like…well, like they did."

"I didn't tell him anything, though. I swear. He played all sorts of games: trying to convince me the war was over and they had won, or that the rest of my unit had also been captured and if I didn't tell him things they would be executed one by one and it would be my fault. But I just kept stalling and eventually gave great play to the 'confession' that the plans he'd found were genuine, when of course that was exactly what the mission was aimed at – that they should think the plans were genuine when they were actually leading them away from our chaps…and then he left. The worst thing was…"

"Go on" Morgan said, very gently.

"He never recognised me" Anthony sobbed. "I would have preferred to die than kill him if I'd met him on the battlefield, and he didn't even remember me."

_Silence._

"There's more, isn't there?" urged Morgan. "I asked for your records. You were at Dinant and Leuven*, no?"

Anthony lost his last scrap of control.

"Yes, it was my first posting. I was sent into Belgium to track and report on the German advance. Belgium was neutral, for god's sake, protected by Treaty."

"Tell me about your experiences."

"I can't. I really can't. I saw things you couldn't believe were true. _I_ couldn't believe they were really happening right in front of me. You would surely not believe me if I told you that they raped nuns, that they killed old men, women, and children. They burned down the University Library! And there was nothing..._nothing!_...I could do to stop it. It took everything I had, every last bit of strength and cunning, to get out alive myself. It felt like the very end of civilization. And I was part of it!"

"No, you weren't" Morgan tried to assure Anthony. "You witnessed it, but you weren't part of it. And witness is extremely important. If they had killed everyone there and left no one to tell the rest of the world, we and all of posterity would know nothing about it and they would have kicked over their tracks, and that would have been just as deplorable as the acts committed. You spoke to the Inquiry. That in itself must have taken such courage."

Anthony had spent his grief in tears, and looked at Morgan exhausted.

"It was a trial, but I was still lucky: I did get out alive."

"But you've blamed yourself for it ever since."

_Silence._ Then suddenly:

"Yes, I have."

"Is that why you don't want to let Lady Edith care about you?"

"Of course. She doesn't deserve to have to live with this."

"I think you should let her decide that for herself, don't you? Or don't you respect her enough to give her that choice?"

Silence. But a different kind of silence.

* * *

.

* I am not in any way saying that the Germans had a monopoly on atrocities, but what happened in Belgium in August-September 1914 is still unbelievable. On 23rd August, 674 civilian inhabitants of Dinant were summarily executed. Two days later the army entered Leuven, shot a number of town officials including the University Rector and burnt the University Library and its quarter of a million mediæval books and manuscripts to the ground, along with everyone in there at the time. In total they killed 248 people that day, and expelled the rest of the population of over 10,000 people out of their homes and the town. This was the nation that, only a few short years before, had produced Goethe, Schiller, Beethoven, Schubert, Friedrich, Hegel, Brahms, Schumann…


	15. Chapter 15

_**In the original play's last act, Cyrano visits Roxanne in the convent where she has buried her grief for Christian for the last fifteen years. Cyrano is suffering from his war wounds, but also from the fatal injury just inflicted upon him. At the end of the play he dies in Roxanne's arms having finally confessed his love.**_

_**THERE IS NO TRAGEDY HERE, but Anthony is going to visit Edith at Downton and he is suffering from his war wounds.**_

* * *

_._

Morgan found Anthony in the dayroom reading, his usual occupation.

"Good morning Major" he said cheerily.

"Good morning doctor, but I think we can dispense with all the Major nonsense now, don't you think? What have you got there?"

Morgan smiled; this was progress.

"I thought you might like some writing materials…to thank Lady Edith for those lovely chocolates. Please thank her for me too, if you would."

Anthony looked at the paper and pen distractedly.

"Yes…yes…I should…you're right…it would only be polite…"

The doctor left him to it, not wanting to push him too hard after yesterday's traumatic conversation.

Anthony stared at the blank paper. What could he write? He couldn't just say 'thank you', like you would to a maiden aunt! Perhaps it was best just to write and see what came out.

_19__th__ December 1918_

_My dearest Edith,_

_I can honestly say that those chocolates were the best thing I have eaten in over four years. I don't know how I can thank you for your thoughtfulness and generosity. I hope you don't mind: there were far too many for me to eat alone, so I shared a few with some of the other officers and staff here. My consultant, Dr Morgan, has asked me to thank you especially. I think he, too, had not tasted chocolate for a very long time._

_My dear, I know you are not stupid. You must have realised that I am not myself, that I am suffering rather from the things that I saw, and the things that I did and were done to me. I fear I am not the man you fell for all those years ago. If, when you see me, you find that you feel differently for me now you must not hesitate to tell me. I expect it. I think less of myself now; why shouldn't you? I am sure it would be best for you and for your future happiness if we were to abandon our agreement, but I respect you enough to make that decision yourself. Whatever you decide I shall honour it._

_I hope that you are getting your home back to yourselves now, and that you will be able to celebrate Christmas with some measure of contentment and peace._

_Be happy, my dearest,_

_Anthony_

* * *

_._

Edith received the letter at breakfast the next day. She was upset, yes, but she was also angry and determined. She put through a call to the Special Neurological Hospital for Officers, Kensington.

"Hello, may I speak to Doctor Morgan, please?"

"Of course, who shall I say is calling?"

"Lady Edith Crawley. I want to talk to him about Sir Anthony Strallan."

There was a brief pause.

"Good morning, Lady Edith. How may I help?"

"Good morning doctor. I have just received a rather…distressing letter from Sir Anthony. He says that…that…" now she actually had to put it into words, she didn't quite know what to call it. It wasn't really shellshock as Anthony had been away from the battlefield for such a long time, but in all other respects that was what she thought he was suffering from.

"Lady Edith, I know you care a great deal about Sir Anthony. My medical clerk tells me that you've been ringing regularly for updates on his progress and when you might visit."

"Yes, I have."

"I also know that Sir Anthony cares a very great deal for you. He tries to hide it, from himself as much as anyone else, but he does. If he said anything to the contrary in the letter you refer to, then please do not distress yourself about it. I am sure that, with time spent back in the real world away from the army and hospitals and prisoner of war camps, he will be able to realise those feelings once more. They are only just under the surface, I assure you. But at present, I must warn you that facing his feelings for you is very painful for him, because he doesn't think he deserves you. It will be up to you to help him see things as they should be, indeed as they are. Be gentle with him, and I am sure all will be well."

"Thank you, Doctor Morgan. That does reassure me. But may I ask again, when may I visit him?"

Morgan smiled.

"I discharged him this morning. He should be home by tonight. Lady Edith, do let him have a couple of days to settle before you visit; it will make it easier for you both."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you, doctor. Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you too, Lady Edith" replied Morgan.

* * *

_._

Christmas Eve morning, and Anthony was beginning to get used to being in his own home again. He was sitting in his library, suddenly missing having people around him all the time and wondering if he should have accepted his sister's offer to spend Christmas with her and her husband. His butler entered.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir. Are you receiving visitors today?"

"Who is it?" Anthony asked, knowing even as the words left his mouth who it was. It couldn't be anyone else.

"Lady Edith Crawley, sir."

"Show her in, and bring some tea, please."

"Very good, sir."

He was glad she hadn't rung ahead. This way he had to face up to it, and get it over and done with.

When she came in Anthony stopped breathing. She was even lovelier than he remembered, more beautiful than he had fantasised all through the last four and a half years. She was now a radiant young woman. His heart ached when he saw she was wearing the necklace he'd given her in this room on that blissful night so long ago.

Edith looked at him as steadily as she could. Remembering Doctor Morgan's words, she knew she had to treat Anthony gently and not show how much she just wanted to run to him and hug him and cry with relief that she was at last in the same room as him once more. She also wanted to cry with grief at the way he looked, so much thinner, more stooped and even more awkward, and much more haunted: beaten.

"Sir Anthony, I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

She was being so very proper and polite, for which he was grateful. He wasn't sure how he might react otherwise. He couldn't trust his emotions any more.

"Not at all, Lady Edith. It's…very nice to see you again. What can I do for you?"

"Now, I know you're going to say 'no', but…well, my family and I would like to welcome you back to Yorkshire properly, and if you felt up to it we'd be honoured if you would consider spending Christmas with us, that is if you don't have any other plans."

Anthony took some time to take this in, which Edith misinterpreted.

"If you would prefer just to have a quiet Christmas here, we won't be at all offended."

"No, it's not that…it's just…"

"I know the Crawleys give the impression of standing on ceremony oh, so very stiffly, but we flatter ourselves that we unbend at Christmas! Perhaps you could come over this afternoon and return Christmas Day in the evening?" Her feelings threatened to well over. "Just that, one night? It would make me so happy." She pulled back the tears. "You don't have to answer now. Consider it for a bit."

He gazed at this amazing woman who seemed to understand that he needed gentleness. She turned to the door, mumbling farewells.

"Will you stay and have some tea?" he heard himself ask, the most forward thing he'd said in years.

"No, I won't stay: we're still decorating the tree and I'm afraid I've been shirking my duties a bit to come over here! Mary will scold me if I stay longer." She knew that she was now babbling to cover her nerves, but she mustn't give him the impression that she wanted to monopolise him. He must feel sure that, if he were to decide to come to Downton, he would have as much or as little company as he felt able to deal with.

"I might see you later today – but there's no expectation."

No expectation perhaps, but a world of hope.

_. . . . _

It took Anthony all of about thirty seconds to decide once Edith had left. He gathered his meagre staff and made sure that everyone who had family was left out of his plans and free to spend the first peaceful Christmas in years with them. Then he supervised his valet as he packed. Anthony's butler telephone Downton to enquire whether it would be convenient for him to arrive after luncheon.

* * *

_._

"Sir Anthony Strallan" Thomas intoned, announcing Anthony into the library. Robert immediately went over to shake his hand.

"Anthony, my dear chap, I'm so glad you could come."

"Thank you for inviting me, Lord Grantham."

"Please, just Robert. Come, sit down and have a bit of a breather before the rest of the family descends upon us."

"Thank you…Robert."

"Edith tells me you've been back at Locksley for only a few days."

"Yes, that's right. The medics seemed to think I was up to it." Anthony smiled his sad, crooked smile.

"But do _you_ feel up to it? Because, you know, while you're here you can always escape if you don't. It's a big enough house; you will always find somewhere to find a bit of peace. No one will mind."

"I'm sure I can cope for a day or two, but thank you."

"Listen, I don't mean to corner you the moment you arrive, but I want to have a word with you before Edith gets you to herself. You see, she's been put in a bit of a sticky situation." Robert lowered his voice. "We had to have Penrith over for dinner the other night, and…well…it appears that he…"

"Anthony!" Edith came through the door positively beaming with joy. "You came! Oh, I'm so pleased. Has Papa been telling you about the schedule for today and tomorrow? If not, I'll fill you in over tea."

Robert gave Anthony a look that clearly said 'I will talk to you later', as Edith led him out to look at the Christmas tree and the decorations.

* * *

_._

After tea, Edith showed Anthony around Downton, explaining how things had changed since before the war. She had obeyed Doctor Morgan's instructions so well that Anthony thought she wasn't going to talk about their agreement or anything personal at all. He felt he had to grasp the nettle.

"Edith, before I ruin your Christmas, I think we should talk…seriously talk about…our agreement."

Edith stopped and looked at him agitatedly.

"Do you consider that we still have an agreement at all?" Anthony asked, his nerves plainly audible in his voice.

"I do. I have waited not just the two years you asked of me, but over twice that length of time. And my feelings for you have only become deeper and more loving. Seeing you again today has only confirmed it for me. But you may not feel the same way about me."

"It isn't that, Edith, I just think it would be totally unfair on you. I'm a different man now."

"You said you would let me decide that. We will need time to get close to one another again, but will you allow me that time and agree that it is my decision to make?"

"It would be dishonourable of me to let you nurse any feelings for me now, Edith. I won't let you waste your life on me."

"But I wouldn't be, Anthony, because it is not your opinion that matters. As long as we love each other, as long as I think I am not wasting my life on you, then I would not be. You are who I want Anthony. I have proved it by waiting for you so long, and by not meeting any other man who compares to you, and I love you as much as ever. In fact, more so."

Anthony found he couldn't breathe. If only he could believe all that. Before he'd been wounded he'd dreamed that Edith would wait for him even though he didn't really believe that she would. He would've borne her no malice if she hadn't. After he'd been shot and tortured he had dreaded that he would return home to find that she had been faithful and true to her word. He had been so sure that she wouldn't want him, that he hadn't really considered what he would do if she did. The possibility had not crossed his mind, despite all those letters. The fact remained that he was not worthy of this wonderful, beautiful young woman.

He heard Doctor Morgan's voice in his head, cutting through the doubts. He was trying to find the words to respond to her, but his internal dialogue was so difficult and taking so long, that Edith spoke first.

"If you don't love me, then please don't be afraid to tell me. Although I want only you, I do not wish to trap you into a marriage simply because you are good and decent and might think that you should because of the agreement. If your feelings have changed, please just tell me. You see, if you don't want me, there is an offer that should I accept it, would bring honour and connections to the family, and I need to answer him by New Year: Lord Penrith has asked me to marry him."


	16. Chapter 16

"_Lord Penrith has asked me to marry him."_

_._

"Penrith?" Anthony gasped. "You can't seriously be considering…?"

"If I can't have you, Anthony, one man is as good or bad as another."

"What…what…" Anthony seemed to be struggling for words. "…what about Archie Campbell. At least he's young!"

"You've not heard? Archie was killed at Verdun in 1916." Edith's voice was quiet, respectful but matter-of-fact. Too many of her friends' and acquaintances' absences could be explained in a similar way.

"Poor Archie." Anthony was staring into the distance. "At least he's been spared…" and then he was silent again. Edith waited a while before nudging him with quiet words.

"Spared what, Anthony? What is it that you can't tell me? What makes you think you are so different now? You are quieter, more unsure, but I think you are the same person underneath."

"You're right: I can't tell you" whispered Anthony, thinking of the conversation he'd had with Morgan less than a week previously. Gently, Edith took his hand, and spoke in her softest tones.

"You've always been at your most eloquent in letters. Why don't you write it for me? If even that is too painful, at least tell me _why_ I must lose the love of my life!"

She was now gazing up at him with those melting, trusting, puppy dog eyes of hers that he knew hid behind their softness a power like magic, both potent and delicate. He was lost when he saw a single tear which gathered in her eye against her will, he realised, as she pulled back and blinked it away.

"Yes, yes, I will. You deserve that, my sweet."

"Thank you, Anthony. Now we really ought to be getting dressed and downstairs or we'll be late for dinner, and that will put all Mama's timings out. Will you be coming to Midnight Mass with us? Don't feel you have to."

Anthony marvelled at the steady, calm way Edith now had about her, even when discussing whether to break off their agreement which must have been as painful for her as it was for him. In the last four years, as he felt he had lost his soul, she had found her strength and mastered it.

Edith meanwhile went to her room, chose a dress for dinner, slipped it on, and then sat on her bed and wept.

* * *

_._

Midnight Mass at Downton Church was a very traditional affair. Reverend Travis gave a safe, comforting sermon intended to make everyone feel secure now the armistice was settled and the arrangements for a peace treaty were being put in place. Everyone was tired of conflict, he said. The Christ child had been born to bring us all peace, comfort, and joy.

Edith had insisted that Anthony sit with her in the Crawley family pews at the front. He didn't feel totally comfortable with this, but to his surprise neither did he feel panicked or very uncomfortable. The time-honoured service was soothing to the soul and he let the rites wash over him. He also became conscious that he was at ease being at Edith's side even in such a public situation. Perhaps this was what Morgan had meant when he urged Anthony to let time do its healing. Things would just fall back into place if he was able to go through the motions without fighting them, and life would become normal again.

Normal? No, not all of it. Some things would surely never be healed and normal; his nightmares for instance. He prayed to a deity he wasn't even sure he believed in any more for the courage to write Edith a truthful explanation. Once they'd returned home, they all had a cup of punch as a nightcap and wished each other a merry Christmas. Then as they made their way up to bed, Anthony took Edith's hand thanking her for the chance to share these few days with her and her family.

But Anthony didn't feel like sleeping, even though the hour was late. He sat down at the desk in his room and started writing.

* * *

_._

It became clear that breakfast on Christmas Day at Downton was not a traditional affair at all. It was almost raucous. Everyone came down, married women included. It was a Downton custom that the men served the women as well as themselves. There was a game of puns based around eggs ("these are eggs-ellent, Carson", "yes, they're cracking", "that's no yolk", "well, I'm scrambled", "don't be so chicken") and any other food item that people could manage. Anthony actually laughed. The rest of the morning was spent walking around the grounds ostensibly so Robert could choose the best places for tomorrow's shoot with the gamekeeper, and to give Isis and everyone else a bit of exercise and fresh air. Anthony and Edith walked with Sybil talking about what she might do now that the war was over.

"I don't really want to continue nursing; I just say that to put the wind up Granny!"

"You can be such a tease, Sybil" Edith replied, smiling.

"I don't think she _really_ believes it!"

"So if it isn't to be nursing, what would you like to do, Lady Sybil?" asked Anthony.

"Do you believe that women should be allowed to have careers, Sir Anthony?" Sybil was intrigued.

"Yes, of course, why not?" he answered.

Edith looked at him with admiration and pride, while Sybil looked at them both closely with great interest.

"What about marriage outside of one's class?"

"Sybil!" Edith thought this line of questioning might be becoming uncomfortable for Anthony, but he seemed to be totally at his ease.

"I think any titled person would do well to remember that his or her ancestors were commoners before they were ennobled, sometimes not through the most honourable of means…"

Sybil giggled and Edith once more was filled with love for this wonderful man whose sense of honour was based in common sense.

* * *

_._

Luncheon was a buffet to allow the staff to have their Christmas feast. Anthony thought that this was an excellent idea and made a note to discuss it with his butler when he returned to Locksley. Gifts were exchanged after luncheon in the library.

"I'm afraid I don't have anything to give any of you" Anthony bemoaned.

"That's quite all right, old chap. I think it's a bit over the top myself. The tradition only really makes sense when there are small children in the house. Edith used to adore opening her presents and discovering what books we'd bought her" said Robert.

Anthony was rather taken by the thought of Edith as a small girl bright with enthusiasm at Christmas with her new books. It reminded him a little of his own boyhood. How much they had in common!

Finally, Edith asked for silence.

"There's one last present that I would like to give, if Sir Anthony will allow me."

"But you sent me those lovely chocolates!" Anthony protested.

"This is not from me. This is from His Majesty." Edith drew a small case from the mantelpiece; she opened it to reveal Anthony's DSO: a decorated white enamel cross hung from a red and blue ribbon. She took it from the case and pinned it to Anthony's jacket, while the Crawleys applauded with feeling. Anthony was speechless. He had forgotten Edith had said he'd been awarded it, and part of him wanted to run and hide from the acclaim the family was bestowing on him. Another part, a bigger part, felt grateful that he had been able to serve his country as well as he did. He felt pride and relief that he had served so honourably as to receive this medal as well as all the others he had in a box in his study at Locksley. Most of all he felt something beyond words for the woman fingering his jacket to adjust the lay of the medal. She was his lady, he had fought for her, been wounded for her, and he knew he would love and serve her all the rest of his life, if she would grant that to him.

Once he'd had a drink to steady his nerves after all that excitement and everything had calmed down again, he drew Edith to one side and took a bundle of papers from his pocket.

"This isn't a very nice Christmas present, I'm afraid. But you deserve to know what happened to me over there, before you make up your mind. I must thank you for making me put it down on paper; I'm sure it helped me sort it over a little."

Edith took the leaves and raised her eyes to his.

"If this helps bring us together, then it will be a superb Christmas present and the best I could hope for. I'll not have time to give it the attention it deserves today, but I will read it tomorrow morning rather than walk with the shoot. Do you wish to be present while I do?"

"I suppose I could answer questions…" his voice trailed off.

"Then I'll tell Mrs Hughes you are staying an extra night. Thank you Anthony. I know it won't have been easy to write this."

Anthony nodded, his face serious, not knowing and dreading what the next day would bring.

* * *

_._

That evening they played charades. Anthony and Edith were so in tune with each other that no one else had much chance. Eventually Robert was forced to ban them both from guessing when the other was presenting.

Later, Anthony lay in his guest room bed, Edith's beautiful smile etched in his mind's eye. It had all been so lovely and comfortable. How would reading his account of his time in Belgium and France change their resurgent love? He turned on his side to sleep and found his pillow was wet from tears he was unaware he had shed.

* * *

_._

Next morning, the whole house was in the grip of business and anticipation. Edith and Anthony ate their breakfast as the guns arrived early and congregated on the front lawn with their dogs and servants; the beaters had arrived even earlier and had already set off for the woods.

"You're very welcome to come, Anthony" offered Robert as he took his last swig of coffee before going outside.

"That's very kind of you, Robert, but with the wound in my shoulder…it's weakened it, I'm afraid…I wouldn't like to trust it and be a danger."

"As you wish. I'm sure you're being too cautious and hard on yourself. Do you have anything entertaining planned for our guest, Edith?"

"I hope to show Anthony the family portraits, Papa."

"God help you, Anthony!" Robert muttered as he left the breakfast room.

There was a tense silence between Edith and Anthony then; the moment of truth had come. Edith broke it with the gentle, caring straightforwardness that Anthony had come to rely on and love.

"Shall we take our coffee up to my sitting room? We won't be disturbed there."

Anthony nodded, took up his cup and followed her.

* * *

_**Thank you all again for all the lovely reviews! They are a great joy and comfort. We are now going beyond the scope of Rostand's play and steering a course for a happy ending. Courage, shipmates!  
**_


	17. Chapter 17

_**Trigger Warning: Anthony suffers from war memories in this chapter.**_

* * *

_._

Anthony's coffee cup had been empty for ten minutes, but he still stared into it. The winter sunshine was streaming into Edith's sitting room, which was small but pleasant and littered with books. She was sat at the table reading through the pages steadily, while he sat on a sofa looking up at her nervously from time to time.

He had written his account chronologically, so he guessed that she must have read about his experiences in Dinant and Leuven by now, and those were the experiences where he felt he had acted most disgracefully. But she made no question; she made no sound at all. Pain had registered in her face but nothing more.

Finally, she whispered "Oh, Anthony!" and he looked up. She had finished the last page, and she was crying. Before he could move she rose from the table and joined him on the sofa taking his hands in hers.

"It must have been terrible…seeing such horrible things and not being able to protect those people. And as for Herr von Brunther…"

"He was Baron von Brunther actually" Anthony murmured.

"I don't care. He…he acted like a fiend. To be able to do that to _anyone_ let alone an old college friend. It's despicable!" She paused and just held his hands lovingly.

"Does it…do they still hurt…your wounds? I know what you said to Papa just now, but…?"

"Yes, they do, but it is getting less. I've been given exercises to help strengthen it, but the medics said that my right arm is always going to be weaker than my left."

"Oh my dearest! You sacrificed so much!"

"You…you don't hate me, knowing what you know now?" whispered Anthony.

"Of course not! I think so much _more_ of you. You have always been the most honourable man I've ever known, Anthony. My opinion of you has been proven and increased tenfold in what I read. You truly deserved your DSO, and the DSC before it."

"I wasn't a very good soldier, though. I went through all my active service and never fired my pistol once."

"I think that makes you a brilliant soldier, and an even better intelligence officer, Anthony."

He just smiled his sad smile and looked at their hands, still entwined.

"Do you still think you don't deserve me?" Edith asked.

He was trying to answer when the first drive of the shoot began, much closer to the house than either of them expected. Anthony literally jumped, panic writ on his face. He closed his eyes and immediately found himself in the mud outside Arras with bullets in his leg, side, and shoulder. When he opened his eyes, he was still there. He wailed in fear.

"No, no, no! Edith! Edith, where are you?!"

"I'm here, my darling! Anthony, my love!"

And she was. She was there in that hell, her arms around his shoulders cuddling him, protecting him. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her fiercely.

"They won't stop firing. I surrendered, but they didn't stop!"

"Anthony, listen to me, the sounds you can hear are my father and his friends on a pheasant shoot. You are here at Downton; you're safe."

"No! You must get away from here, Edith. You must get to safety!"

"I'm not leaving you."

"You must!"

Trying to keep calm for his sake, and struggling to think of the best action to take, Edith held Anthony's head as close to her as she could to try to muffle the sound of the guns for him.

"Tell me, Anthony, tell me where you think would be safest!"

"Over there, in the tunnel entrance."

"You won't feel claustrophobic?"

"Heavens, no! I'll just be glad we're safe."

Where in Downton was most like a tunnel? She had a sudden flash of inspiration.

"Hold my hand. I'm going to take you down to that tunnel, but it's a bit of a walk, alright?"

"Keep down, Edith. I couldn't bear it if you…"

"We'll both be safe, I promise. Now follow me."

* * *

_._

Mrs Hughes was surprised to see Lady Edith peering around her door, though definitely not entering.

"Mrs Hughes, could I borrow the key to the wine cellar please? Sir Anthony is interested in looking at it. I'd ask Mr Carson but he's out overseeing to the shoot's luncheon." Edith spoke clearly so Anthony would hear it, if he could trapped in whatever hellish flashback was infecting his mind right now. Silently, she mouthed '_please_'.

Mrs Hughes looked behind Lady Edith and saw Sir Anthony standing crouched behind her, his hands shaking. She'd seen this before.

"Very good, my lady" she said calmly, going through to Mr Carson's office to fetch the key. "Also, it's a wee bit chilly down there this time of year. I'll have someone bring you some blankets and hot tea. If there's _anything else_ you might need, just ask."

"Oh, thank you, Mrs Hughes!" Edith sighed in gratitude. She led Anthony down to the wine cellar which was indeed chilly, but also blissfully silent. They couldn't hear the shoot from here.

"There! I told you I would get us to safety" she said triumphantly, turning to him.

As he reached the final step Anthony's legs gave way and he stumbled, ending up on the floor, his head in his hands, weeping. Edith knelt by him and embraced his shoulders and head once more, letting him cry all the tension out. Daisy brought tea, biscuits, and blankets and left them on the floor next to them, looking concerned but saying nothing. Edith quietly asked Daisy to let her know when the shoot had stopped for lunch.

It was the best part of half an hour before Anthony calmed enough to ask where he was.

"We're in the wine cellar at Downton examining my father's claret, at least that's the story. Are you feeling a little stronger, dearest?"

"Stronger? A mouse is braver than I am. Now you know just about everything about me and how much of a coward I really am!"

"You are no coward, Sir Anthony Strallan. Do you hear me?!" He hugged her close again. She went on more quietly.

"If you had broken your leg, I would not expect you to run a race or sprint up stairs. This is exactly like that, except that it is your mind that has been damaged by the war. You will recover your composure again as your mind heals. And I would feel honoured if you would let me help that healing process in any way you would allow."

"You are too good for me, Edith…"

"No, don't think that. You are a truly wonderful man, Anthony. You deserve someone...as wonderful as me!" she added with a small smile. They listened to the blessed silence.

"Where did the damage take you, just now?"

"Arras, where I was wounded. I told Ross to go on ahead of me and he was shot…"

"That wasn't your fault, Anthony. You can't take responsibility for everything horrible that happened around you. At least they didn't kill him, or you. Can you imagine how I would have grieved if they had?"

"Oh Edith! My love! Thank you for staying with me."

"Of course. Do you think I would just leave you suffering like that?"

"You, my sweet, are a little miracle worker. Episodes like that usually last half a day, or anything up to two days. You chased the demons away in less than an hour!"

In a while, Edith persuaded him to stand up and drink some of the tea. She placed a blanket around his shoulders too; sitting on the floor had chilled them further. It was not long until Anthony had composed himself totally.

"I am very sorry you had to see that, Edith, but perhaps it was for the best. You need to know…such things if...you are seriously considering…"

Edith smiled at his lack of eloquence: he wrote so beautifully and spoke so awkwardly and it endeared him to her so very, very much.

"Is there anything else I might need to know…to _consider things seriously_?"

"There's the nightmares…" he moaned.

"You don't need to tell me about them today. I think you've bared enough truth for now, don't you? But...Anthony, there's something I should tell you."

He felt his heart become hollow. Was there someone else? Had there been? Two minutes earlier she had seemed so close to him. And now…

"You didn't know it, but Klaus, your ward orderly, he used to write postscripts to the letters he took down for you, telling me how you were getting on, and…and what you used to say about me. I'm grateful to him because it meant I was prepared for what happened later."

Anthony sighed in relief.

"Dear Klaus. You know it was the first thing I did when I got home…he always wanted to go to university but his family couldn't afford it. I've instructed my solicitors to find him and provide him with enough funds so he can attend, if he still wishes to. I hope he too finds a lovely wife. He really did deserve it."

Anthony smiled at her, but the smile disappeared as quickly as it had come as he recalled something that had to be addressed as soon as possible.

"Please, Edith…please don't marry Lord Penrith!" There was pleading in his voice and desperation in his features.

"If you ask me not to, then I will not."

"I _am_ asking you. I'm sure there will be…another offer…" Anthony couldn't find the words, but Edith found them for him.

"…when that person is feeling stronger, perhaps?"

"Yes."

She took his tea cup and placed it on the steps beside her own. Then she put her arms around his waist, looking up at him with eyes full of love.

"I so hoped that might be the case."

Anthony was utterly lost in admiration and love for her. She had witnessed a full-blown flashback episode, forced on them both quite suddenly, yet she had dealt with it coolly and practically. She'd comforted him and loved him, and she still thought he deserved her. He gingerly placed his arms around her shoulders and edged closer to her, all the time expecting her to pull away. But she didn't. She closed her eyes in expectation.

Anthony pulled her closer still and kissed her: a long, slow, tender kiss, awkward at first, as though he were remembering how to do it, but growing in love and confidence until it became more ardent, open-mouthed, and he worshipped her totally.

"I love you, my sweetest, dearest Edith" he whispered between kisses to her neck.

"I love you too, my Anthony. Oh, how I love you."

He hugged her to him urgently lifting her off her feet, claiming her lips again, and again, and again.

* * *

_._

_**I hope this is living up to your expectations! Thank you all for your wonderful encouragement.  
**_


	18. Chapter 18

Anthony sat in his library sipping his nightcap trying, and failing, to settle himself for bed. Had it really been only two or three days since he'd sat here feeling lonely, when _she_ had come to ask him to Downton for Christmas? The days and months and years before that felt like a bad dream…a nightmare from which _she_ had woken him.

_. . . . _

When Daisy had come down to the wine cellar to tell Edith and he that the shoot had stopped for lunch, she'd been embarrassed to find them kissing. Poor Daisy, Anthony smiled to himself. He didn't know who has been more scarlet and awkward, she or him. Edith just seemed to find the whole situation amusing.

After that Edith had taken him out for a drive well away from Downton despite Anthony's protestations that he was sure he'd be alright now. Blessed Daisy had also put together a hamper of sandwiches, cake, and fruit, with a thermos of hot chocolate for them without being asked. When Edith and Anthony went to thank her, she merely stuttered something about 'if her William…I would've done the same' and rushed off. Edith had to explain who William was as they were walking to the garages.

Edith drove very well, Anthony thought, although he would have preferred not to go quite so fast. They found a secluded spot out of the winter wind to have their lunch, and then snuggled under a car blanket and soon they were kissing again.

Anthony was petting her neck, covering it with soft caresses heavy with intent and meaning and getting very tempted to do more, when Edith suddenly sat bolt upright and exclaimed.

"Oh no! Your papers! I left them on the table in my sitting room."

"If Daisy is anything to judge by, I'm sure your staff are very discreet" Anthony replied, trying to calm her.

"I'm not worried about the staff. I'm worried about Sybil finding it, or my mother, or, god forbid, Mary."

Anthony went pale at the thought.

"We'd better get back. The shoot will be over soon anyway" Edith said, starting the engine.

* * *

_._

Downton was a hive of activity when they arrived. The shoot had indeed finished and returned, and they were obliged to take a cup of tea with some of Robert's guests before Edith managed to slip away to her rooms. She was soon back at Anthony's side.

"They're gone."

"What?" Anthony couldn't believe that Edith's suspicions had been confirmed.

"Your papers, they're not in my room."

"Edith…"

"I'm sorry. I should have…"

"Don't blame yourself. You were looking after me."

"Still…I _will_ find out who's taken them."

"I'm sure whoever it is will make themselves known" Anthony observed grimly.

* * *

_._

There was little talk at dinner that evening except about the shoot. Everyone was feeling tired after three days of merrymaking.

Over the port, Anthony endured Robert's and Matthew's offers to take him shooting just the three of them some other time. He politely declined and steered the conversation towards stories of the day and away from himself.

In the drawing room, Edith was sipping her coffee looking at all the female members of her family to try to catch any of them watching her. But, no, everyone was perfectly normal. Perhaps Anna had just tidied the papers away; it could be something as simple and innocent as that, she tried to reassure herself.

When the men joined them, Anthony found his way to Edith's side.

"I hope Papa wasn't too full of himself" she smiled.

"He had a record bag, he has reason to be proud. I was pleased for him."

"You're very generous, sweetheart."

"Erm…any news?" he asked nervously. It didn't really matter if his war record became common knowledge. Edith had convinced him that he had nothing to be ashamed of. Nevertheless, he would have preferred it if the transcript had not gone missing.

"No" Edith looked downwards. Whatever did Anthony think of a household like hers?

"Sir Anthony!" It was Violet. "Are we to have the pleasure of your company another night?"

Anthony wasn't sure whether she meant it or was being her normal acidic self. He felt it was safer to assume the former.

"That's very kind of you, Lady Grantham, but no, I am returning to Locksley tonight" Anthony replied carefully. He still remembered her interrogation of him about Edith before the war.

At that moment, Cora approached and took Edith's arm.

"Edith, darling, would you come and help me. Larry Grey has Sybil cornered. We should rescue her."

As they smiled and left, Violet fingered Anthony's lapel.

"Do these things still have inside pockets? They did in my husband's day."

"Yes, they…" Anthony was opening one side to demonstrate when Violet cut him off.

"Good" she said decisively in a decidedly different voice. She drew Anthony's manuscript from her evening bag and slipped it into his tailcoat so fast that no one noticed. Even Anthony wasn't entirely sure what had happened, and had to check.

They stood in silence, regarding each other.

Violet broke the stalemate first.

"I was told you and she were in her rooms. I didn't find you but I did find that. I didn't think it should have been left lying around."

"No. Indeed. Thank you, Lady Grantham."

"And Mrs Hughes and I know each other too well to let anything slip, but Daisy, poor girl, is easily…"

"…dominated?" Anthony suggested, his eyes steadily holding Violet's.

"…'swayed' is a better word" she finished.

"You would have made a formidable intelligence officer yourself, Lady Grantham."

"I will try to take that as a compliment, Sir Anthony." Then she remembered what she had read and heard, shook her head slowly, and laid her hand on his arm.

"Please don't misunderstand me. I can sometimes be too fond of verbal fireworks, I know, and I forget how it can sound. I do think that Edith is a girl of good sense and good taste, and in choosing you she has demonstrated both. She's a very lucky woman."

Anthony was staring at her speechless with surprise when Edith returned.

"Sir Anthony, I've just asked Carson to make sure your valet has everything ready. I was going to order up your chauffeur from Locksley but the Cassells have offered you a lift: you're on their way, and they are ready to leave. I do think we should be insisting you go home now and get some rest. I fear I haven't been taking good enough care of you. I've insisted you had too much excitement over the last three days. I hope you will forgive me."

Anthony looked from Edith to her grandmother gently shaking his head. Crawley women really were astounding and he knew when he was outnumbered.

"And, of course, I think you are a lucky man, Sir Anthony. I know she has been looking after you extremely well. Good night. Good night, Edith" and with that she glided away.

"What was all that about?" Edith asked.

"I'll tell you later…perhaps…tomorrow…if you're free?"

Her face lit up at both the prospect and at the fact that he wanted to see her again so soon and felt able to ask for it.

* * *

_._

So that was how he found himself back in his own library, sipping brandy, and marvelling that somehow, with Edith's help, he had found his way once more. Instead of going up to bed, he sat at his desk and wrote a letter.

* * *

_._

**_Thank you all again for your reviews and kind words. More soon, I promise._**


	19. Chapter 19

_27__th__ December 1918_

_Dear Lord Penrith,_

_I hope you will not be too disappointed by my answer. I have considered your kind and generous offer very seriously but I find that it is impossible for me to accept. My heart belongs to another and has done since before the war. It would be very unfair of me to accept your proposal, or that of any other man's, while I love him._

_I do hope that this will not prevent me from calling you my friend, but I shall understand if this cannot be._

_With regret and every good wish for your future happiness,_

_Edith Crawley_

_. . . .  
_

It had taken some time that morning for Edith to craft the wording to her satisfaction. She didn't want to make an enemy of Penrith, especially for her parents' sake, active as they all were in local concerns and activities.

As she was just putting it in the post tray, her mother asked her to help with the arrangements for the big New Year's Day shoot. That occupied her until luncheon, but as soon as the meal was over and she was free, she took a car and drove to Locksley, excitement filling her.

* * *

_._

Anthony was ashamed by his anxiety to see Edith. He had woken early and immediately felt a joyous anticipation the like of which he hadn't experienced for years. Try as he might he couldn't control it, and eventually decided there was no reason why he should. He'd sat in his library all morning trying to read but looking up at the front drive far too regularly, feeling his excitement grow into concern and fear.

Perhaps she wasn't coming after all. No! She had said she would come today. She might have said that to get rid of him politely last night. No! That wasn't like Edith, his brave, fearless Edith. If she didn't welcome his affections she wouldn't have let him kiss her like that yesterday, and god! how he wanted to kiss her like that again, today if possible.

But luncheon had come and gone. He'd picked at his sandwiches listlessly, still listening out for a car engine. More than once he'd looked at the telephone in the hall longing for the courage (or the shamelessness, or both) to call Downton just to hear her voice.

He thought back to that summer of 1914 and recognised all the same symptoms that he had exhibited so long ago. It hit him then; his feelings for Edith had not changed over the course of the war: he had simply buried them to protect himself from the pain of separation and of the possibility of not returning, never seeing her again.

Nothing had prepared him for the intensity of these returning emotions. He could not conceive of living without her, not now she had shown she wanted him.

There! In the distance: a car engine…could it be?! Anthony looked out of the library window to see a car pull up and Edith get out. He couldn't help it. He ran to the hall just as his butler was letting her in. He stopped only for a moment to drink in the sight of her before he stepped to her quickly and took her in his arms.

"Anthony!" She was surprised but very pleased.

"My sweet one!" he whispered into her hair, his eyes closed. And there it was: that feeling of completeness, of stillness because he was with her, the centre of his universe.

The embrace was not long and he stepped back and smiled welcomingly at her before the threatening tears could take advantage of him.

"Thank you for coming. Have you had luncheon?"

"Yes, thank you. I'm sorry I couldn't get here earlier. I had some things that had to be done. One in particular: a letter to Lord Penrith."

Anthony looked at her, the colour draining from his cheeks.

"Refusing him…" Edith confirmed, not sure whether to be flattered that he was so scared, or annoyed with him for doubting her.

Anthony breathed again, sighing audibly, and gave her a sheepish grin, then led her into the library.

"I'm sorry. I'm a bit…jumpy, today."

"After yesterday, I really don't blame you…"

"No, it isn't that…well, it might be a bit. It's just…" He looked at her once more, unsure whether this was the right thing to do, whether it was the right time or place, unsure of everything now that she was actually here, everything except one thing: this feeling when he was with her, like nothing else on earth. And his desire that it should last the rest of his life.

"Do take a seat." He indicated the sofa and perched on it himself next to her.

"What's the matter, Anthony? You're like a chestnut on a hot shovel."

"It's…I spent a lot of the night…thinking. You were marvellous yesterday, you really were." She tried to wave his praise away. "Truly, it was like…like having an angel on my side. Someone I could trust, implicitly. It was magical."

"You know, don't you, that I want to be that for you, no matter what, for as long as you need it?" she said softly but firmly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Then…Lady Edith Crawley…I will confess that I cannot wait any longer…we've both waited far too long…" he slid off the sofa to one knee before her. "…will you marry me?"

It was not what she had expected. A mixture of joy and surprise overtook her and she found breathing difficult.

"Edith?" Poor Anthony was in an agony of hope and dread. "I love you so much, I have spent the last twelve hours being reminded how painful I find it being away from you, and I want that to stop as soon as possible, if you will have me."

"Of course I'll have you, you big idiot! I've wanted you for five years and so far _I've_ been the one trying to convince _you_ it was a good idea, remember?"

Anthony thought his heart might just stop with all the happiness. He stayed on the floor staring at his love, not quite believing her answer and how eager she still was.

Edith lost patience with him.

"Aren't you going to kiss me?"

"May I?"

"Anthony Strallan, if you don't kiss me right now, I shall…"

But he didn't wait to find out what she would do. He leaned up to her, put his arms around her back and shoulders, and stopped her talking with a kiss that made her forget that she had been speaking at all. He teased and tasted her, begged entry with his tongue and played with her. He worshipped her and adored her, and demanded that she respond just as passionately, losing himself in her and their caress. It seemed to last forever. Edith was overcome. Anthony had more confidence in his lovemaking today, and heavens! he was good. She eventually realised that Anthony had moved on to love-biting her neck and she thanked whoever was watching over her that she didn't have to convince Anthony any more. She found his hand and moved it to her clothed breast. Anthony answered with a sharp gasp and an even more frantic kiss. In time he moved his hand to her thigh and was even more stunned and grateful when she moved her leg up to his and kept going, coming to rest on his hip. He was desperate for her now, even unconsciously rocking himself against her rhythmically. He had to stop, he had to, he just had to…

By sheer force of will, he pulled away from her and stood in front of her, holding her hands.

"My darling, you have made me so incredibly happy!"

"Better late than never" she answered.

"I'm sorry; I should have asked you on your twenty-first birthday, two and a half years ago. And I would have, I promise, if I hadn't been…"

"But we've arrived here" she said cutting off his sad reminiscences "despite everything that Fate and the world could throw at us!"

"Yes. Yes!" Anthony smiled at her, sure of it all again.

"Shall we go and tell my family?"

"Well, your grandmother's on our side…oh, I haven't told you. She was the one who found the transcript."

"What? Granny?"

"Yes, she came upstairs to find us when we were in the cellar. She found the papers, read them, and didn't think they ought to be left unattended. She had just given them back to me with her blessing when you joined us last night. I'm sorry; I meant to tell you that first, but…well, I got carried away."

"Then let's go to the Dower House first!"

* * *

_._

**_Golly you are wonderful my readers! Thank you so much for sticking with me. I haven't had a chance to thank all reviewers yet, and probably won't until this story is over, but I will, I will._**


	20. Chapter 20

"I am so, so pleased you've sorted it out, at last! That's just how it should be. And you came to tell me first?! Oh darlings!"

Violet's reaction was joyous. Edith hugged her grandmother and Anthony was kissed on both cheeks to his stunned amazement.

All three then went on to Downton, and the reception to the news there was no less excited and happy. Even Mary held her sister and whispered "You deserve it, Edith", before making herself scarce. Matthew shook Anthony's hand in congratulation then slipped away to return to Crawley House. Neither action escaped Edith's notice.

Anthony stayed to tea and listened with growing enthusiasm as Cora happily began to plan a late spring or early summer wedding.

* * *

_._

"Things have never been easy between us. We're always saying the wrong thing and being awkward, but he'd never said…said things like that before…that he can't marry me!"

Edith was in Mary's room, consoling her.

"I just don't believe him, Mary. He loves you. All you have to do is look at him when he's with you, when you're together. It's obvious."

"He can't marry me…that's what he said. And now you're engaged it has put extra pressure on us. I'm not blaming you, really I'm not. The worst thing is I don't know why he said it. He won't, or can't, tell me. What if he's met someone else?"

"Mary, I know you prefer not to show your feelings to anyone, but surely Matthew is different? Why don't you just tell him you love him?"

"Because…because it would be doomed to go askew, I know it."

Edith did her best to calm Mary, but she was more upset than Edith had ever seen her. They both wished Sybil were there to help, but Sybil had been disappearing at all sorts of odd times recently. In fact everything seemed to be at sixes and sevens and, for once, things were only going right for Edith. The irony was not lost on her.

* * *

_._

_26__th__/27__th__ December 1918_

_My darling Edith,_

_It is getting on for midnight, but I cannot sleep. Not because of the nightmares, which hold much less fear for me now that I have felt your embrace and your love while immersed in remembrances of things past. No, I cannot sleep because you are not here with me. I feel quite ridiculous; all the passionate feelings I had for you in that blissful summer of '14, which I smothered during the war because I could not stand the thought that things would not work out for us, have returned and increased tenfold in intensity. It is quite as though some angel or devil took my youth away from me and made me old before my time, only to return it to me now when I need it most._

_I long for you with every last drop of blood in my body. I yearn to kiss every lock of your hair. I crave your company and the sight of your eyes like a man dying of thirst desires water. And I know that, come tomorrow, I will not be able to summon any of these words to address to you, because when I am with you I am tongue-tied like the silliest schoolboy. Please know that I want to tell you these things in my own voice and not just on paper. Know that, in time, I will learn to have the courage to whisper these words of love to you, if that is what you want._

_It is now the day that I see you next._

_I love you._

_Your Anthony_

* * *

_._

Cora, Mary, Edith, and Sybil were putting the finishing touches to the plan for the big New Year's Day shoot with Carson and Mrs Hughes when Anthony arrived the next morning. After the usual pleasantries, Edith took Anthony to one side.

"Darling…" she began.

He looked at her timorously, knowing that she would have received the letter by now.

"Sometimes I get tongue-tied too. All I can say is that I wish I could even write like you, let alone speak like it, so I could somehow express how I feel about you."

"So you don't mind?"

"What? That your muse has come back?"

"Of course my muse has returned. You are my muse. You don't mind receiving passionate love letters from a besotted old fool? And one with war wounds at that?"

"Anthony! Anthony, I love you, my darling."

"Oh do say it again! I love it when you call me that" he smiled, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead, his joy overflowing into good humour.

"You won't when you hear what I'm now going to ask you."

"For my lady, anything!"

"I'm trying to be serious, Anthony!" she laughed, receiving another kiss.

"I'm not!" he batted back. Then he saw the pleading in her eyes behind the banter.

"Sorry sweetheart…You just make me giddy, like wine, that's all. What is it?"

"It's Mary…and Matthew. Could you have a word with him? Please?"

* * *

_._

Anthony couldn't get Matthew by himself until after dinner, when he found him idly potting billiards by himself.

"Anthony! Fancy a game?"

"Yes, alright, although you'll wipe the floor with me."

Anthony took off his tails and hung them up next to Matthew's, and then chose a cue.

"It's been years since I last played."

"Robert doesn't play much anymore either, and I get a bit bored trying to keep my hand in alone."

"Well, once I'm married I promise to come over so you can beat me on a regular basis!"

They played in quiet contentment until Matthew enquired as to the wedding preparations.

"Cora and Edith have it all under control. As far as I can see at the moment, all I have to do is turn up in a morning suit and say 'I do'! Do you have any plans that way yet?" _Goodness, that wasn't very subtle, was it?!_ Anthony rebuked himself.

"Er…no."

"Really? I must be very dense."

"Dense? Why?" Matthew asked, taking another ball.

"I'm sorry, I thought you and Mary were…well, keen on each other."

"I love her. That's _why_ I can't marry her" Matthew replied in that odd way he had that was both direct and cryptic.

"Sorry; now I'm really confused."

"Do you get nightmares, Anthony? About…about the war?"

"Nightmares, yes, and worse."

"I'm sorry for that, truly. But does Edith know about them?"

"Yes, she had to endure a rather brutal one on Boxing Day." Anthony couldn't ask Matthew to share a confidence with him if he wasn't prepared to do the same in return.

"So that's why you wouldn't come shooting. I'm sorry, old chap. I didn't think…because it doesn't take me like that. But the nightmares…"

"And you think Mary wouldn't understand."

"I'm sure she wouldn't. She's not the most understanding of people."

Anthony bent down to take a shot.

"All I can tell you is that I almost didn't let Edith in…I couldn't bear to think of her saddled with a man with a scarred body, old enough to be her father, and haunted by demons at all hours of the day and night. When it was made clear to her, well, it was forced upon us both, and, I tell you, as god is my witness, I am so glad I did. I might have let all that happiness slip past me, and denied Edith what she wanted into the bargain. If you tell Mary, even if it all goes wrong, at least you'll know you tried. Whereas if you don't even tell her, ask her…you'll never know what happiness you missed."

Anthony made the shot and missed the ball by a foot.

"Like that."

They smiled at each other.

"Mary loves you. More than that, she needs you. You make her complete. Think about it."

Matthew silently potted the last ball, and patted Anthony affectionately on the shoulder as they picked up their tails and made their way back.

* * *

_._

Three days later, just as the family were waiting to see in the New Year, Matthew and Mary announced their engagement. Cora was over the moon and soon had the two couples agreeing to a double wedding. Anthony shook Matthew's hand while the younger man thanked him. Anthony brushed it off with a 'don't mention it' but secretly he was immensely pleased with himself for helping, and for being able to help. Edith came over to stand by him while Carson poured Champagne for the second time in a week.

She brushed an imaginary piece of fluff from his lapel.

"You know, I really am very grateful to you, and proud of you."

Anthony looked down at her, his eyes shining with love.

"I wish I had had someone to tell me the same things. Having said them out loud to Matthew, I even begin to feel the truth of what I've been trying to believe myself all this time. It isn't up to us men to decide for you ladies what is best for you. And it isn't our fault that we happen to be the generation who had to fight that war. We have to trust you when you say you want us, broken in mind and body though we may be."

Edith smiled sadly, and then more warmly.

"I do want you, so very much. I love you so, Sir Anthony."

"I love you twice as much back, Lady Edith."

They kissed very quickly and chastely as 1918 turned into 1919.

* * *

_._

**_Thank you all again for the great reviews._**

**_Just a little reminder that the EAST (Edith, Anthony, Sybil, Tom) Alliance celebrations are happening in a couple of weeks on 4th August. Are you all getting ready? Are you? I CAN'T HEAR YOU...ARE YOU?!_**

**_Go to Tumblr and track the EAST Alliance..._**


	21. Chapter 21

**_This chapter and the next were meant to be my contributions to the EAST Alliance Day, but Isis politely insisted that it be _The Furry Sergeant-Major _instead. I am shocked to find that I have been writing this story for over three months. I apologise for my tardiness in not finishing it sooner._**

* * *

_._

Mary knocked gently but insistently on Edith's bedroom door. It was well past midnight several weeks into January, and Edith was not really awake when she answered.

"Mary, what is it?"

"Have you seen Sybil?"

"Not since before dinner. I expect she's still asleep, as we should be."

"She isn't. She's not in her room" Mary replied.

"In her bathroom?" Edith enquired trying to rationalise Mary's fears away.

"No. And there's this."

Mary handed Edith an envelope addressed 'To my family'.

"Oh dear god!" Edith breathed as she read the letter.

"She's gone…with Branson" Mary said, still not believing it.

"Tom! Of course! She's been disappearing at odd moments for months, and I knew that she discussed politics with him. But Papa…"

"We've got to find her and bring her home before…well, at least before anyone else misses her" declared Mary, taking charge. "Could you drive me?"

In five minutes they were dressed and in a car heading towards the Great North Road. Sybil had mentioned Gretna. But they couldn't have got there by now. They would have to have stopped and, perhaps stayed at an inn. As they passed the gates to Locksley, Edith turned in.

"It'll be useful to have a man as well, don't you think?" Edith was so quietly confident that Mary didn't argue.

Anthony's butler took some minutes to answer. Edith could feel Mary's anxiety increasing by the second, but once the front door was opened things happened quickly. Anthony himself was halfway down the stairs to see what the noise was before his butler had shown Edith into the hallway.

"Edith! What's the matter?"

She ran to him. He was dressed in white cotton pyjamas and a royal blue, silk dressing gown. Edith felt ashamed to admit that she was quite heady and overcome seeing him dressed like that but forced herself to focus on Sybil.

"It's my sister Sybil. She's eloped with Papa's chauffeur. Mary and I are the only people who know, at least for now. We must find her, Anthony! We just don't want her to do something out of frustration or desperation, something she might come to regret."

"Of course. How can I help?"

"Would you? Would you come with us? We're not quite sure what we'll do if…when we find them."

"Let me throw some clothes on and I'll be with you in a minute."

The three of them continued on, looking carefully outside of every hotel and inn for cars that they recognised. They eventually found a vehicle Edith remembered outside of a small hotel called The Swan Inn near to Bedale. Anthony went in and enquired about a young couple, and was directed to a room on the first floor.

Tom answered the door, and was stunned to see Sybil's two sisters and Sir Anthony Strallan standing outside, a situation which didn't last long, as Mary pushed past them all, leading them into the room. Anthony and Edith had no choice but to follow.

"How did you find us? How did you know?" stuttered Tom.

On seeing Sybil fully dressed, Mary heaved a very audible sigh of relief.

"Never mind that. At least nothing's happened, thank God!"

Her tone infuriated Sybil.

"What do you mean 'nothing's happened'?" she almost shouted. "I've decided to marry Tom, and your coming after me won't change that." Tom moved to her side to show their love and solidarity.

"And despite your sister's rather forceful way of expressing her anxiety about you, we are not here to try and change that. Please believe me" Anthony stated in his calm, deep voice. He made eye contact with Mary and held her gaze until she backed down.

"It's just…this isn't the way" Edith added.

"She's right. Of course Mama and Papa will hate it…" said Mary, still shaken.

"Why should they?" objected Tom. Mary turned on him again, more out of annoyance than any real opposition.

"Oh, pipe down. Sybil, can't you let them get used to the idea? Take your stand and refuse to budge, but allow them time. That way you won't have to break up the family."

But Sybil shook her head.

"They would never give permission."

"You don't need permission, you're twenty-one. But you do need their forgiveness if you're not to start your new life under a black shadow" Mary huffed, but Tom couldn't believe Mary.

"Don't listen. She's pretending to be reasonable to get you home again."

"Even if I am, even if I think this is mad, I know it would be better to do it in broad daylight than to sneak off like a thief in the night." Mary stood firm on that point. Anthony, ever the diplomat, tried to soften the blow.

"Lady Mary is merely being practical. No matter how you plan to support yourselves after you marry, having the disgrace and acrimony that this will cause fresh in people's minds will not do either of you any good."

Tom looked at Sybil. In her eyes he saw all the fondness and respect she held for her family fighting with all the love she felt for him, and he knew he couldn't put her through any more.

"Go back with them, then. If you think they can make you happier than I will."

His voice was low, defeated. It was so unlike the fighting Tom that Sybil knew that she had to reassure him.

"Am I so weak you believe I could be talked out of giving my heart in five minutes flat? But Mary's right. I don't like deceit and our parents don't deserve it. So, I'll go back with them. Believe it or not, I will stay true to you. I mean it."

She kissed his cheek, and then with all the sweetness and dignity that she and no one else could possess, she left the room. Edith and Anthony picked up her luggage and followed her.

"I'll return the car in the morning. You're confident you can bring her 'round, aren't you?" Tom said to Mary.

"Fairly. I'll certainly try." She was about to leave, but turned back to him.

"Do you want some money? For the room?"

Tom bridled at the offer.

"No thank you, my lady. I can pay my own way."

She left and Tom sat on the bed, disconsolate but in some ways relieved. He hated to admit it, and the radical in him loathed the thought, but he had been uncomfortable with running away like this. He felt it was beneath him. All his intentions were honourable, after all. But 'honour' was a construct, something _they_ pretended to because they could.

And yet…up until five minutes ago he was only hours away from making his dearest Sybil his own. Now, he was thrust back into the sea of uncertainty.

Because he was thinking all these thoughts, he didn't hear the knock on the door the first time. After the second time, it opened and Sir Anthony entered. Tom's instincts took over and he stood up.

"Yes, Sir Anthony?"

"Mr Branson, I hope you don't think I'm intruding. If you would prefer to be left alone, please just say."

"No, you're not intruding, and 'Tom' is good enough for me."

"I just wanted to say that I don't think it would be wise for you to be left alone tonight. What Mary and Edith and I have done must have come as a shock to you, and for that I apologise."

"I'll be fine…"

"Forgive me, but I don't quite believe that. I would like to offer you accommodation at Locksley for tonight. Then tomorrow, my offer is, if you and Sybil wish, that Edith and I, and Mary and Matthew if they are willing, we all go to Lord and Lady Grantham to explain the situation to them. We will all be there to support you. I do regard that the fairest way of proceeding for all parties and I'd urge you to consider it."

Tom hadn't been prepared for any of that. He stood still, lost for words.

"There is only one small problem, Mr Branson."

"What is that, Sir Anthony?"

"Well, firstly, if 'Tom' is good enough for you, then 'Anthony' is good enough for me, especially if we are to be brothers-in-law, but secondly, I've sent Sybil and her sisters off to Downton and I'm stuck here. Would you mind giving me a lift back home?"

"You sneaky sod!" Tom let the chuckle pass before he knew it. Mortified, he looked up at Anthony, only to see a smirk playing on the older man's lips.

"I'm not usually so sly, I assure you, but this is a rather unusual situation. So either you take us both back to Locksley (and the sooner we get back to Locksley the sooner I can get us both a couple of good brandies down us. I'm sure I need it, even if you don't!) or I'm bedding down here with you, and you can buy me a brandy."

Tom looked at Anthony with new eyes.

"Thank you…Anthony. I appreciate all of that. I'll just settle up with the landlord."

"Forgive me, but that's all done. I just wanted to keep things simple this evening, well this morning now. As I said, you can buy me a drink sometime."

Mary's offer had been an afterthought, and came out condescendingly, even if she didn't mean it. Anthony however was treating Tom as an equal. Again he found he had no words. He picked up his bag and led the way out of the bedroom and down to the car with a murmured "Thank you".

* * *

.

The next morning broke fair. Tom stared out of the window at the pretty landscape around Locksley, not so grand as Downton, but more loved with flowerbeds, orchards, formal knot gardens with pathways, and seats. He felt a rare sense of confidence and purpose. He wasn't fighting this battle alone any more. Anthony and he had drunk several glasses in the early hours; Anthony had asked him about his life in Ireland and how he came to be in Yorkshire. Tom, once he had enough alcohol inside him, had ventured to ask Anthony about his relationship with Edith and had been surprised by all the struggles that he hadn't known about, especially with the Dowager Countess.

"Her loyalty is to the Crawleys, to the family. It sounds strange but once you become accepted as one of them, you will have her loyalty as well. It's not an easy code to grasp, but it is consistent and logical when you come to look at it from her point of view." Anthony looked as thought he was trying to get his head around it for himself as well as explaining his understanding of it for Tom. Tom thought hell would freeze over before Violet Crawley owed him any loyalty, but he kept that thought to himself.

After breakfast, Tom drove them both over to Downton to face the next trial.


	22. Chapter 22

Tom drove the car back to its place in the garages. As they walked back to the house, Anthony saw his companion's fear expressed in the younger man's shoulders, and briefly put his good hand on Tom's back.

"Whatever happens, Edith and I are here for you, and quite probably Mary and Matthew too."

"Thank you, Anthony. I know Sybil…she's a woman of conviction…but god knows what her family will throw at us…I just…"

"Tom…Tom…take a good deep breath. That's right! We're going over the top together."

Tom smiled up at Anthony, knowing he would be much more worried if he weren't there.

* * *

_._

"Yes?" Robert's voice dripped with condescension as he looked up to see Branson enter the library. Edith and Mary exchanged a worried look, but Sybil merely smiled at Tom, a calm, sure smile, as though they were the only two people there. Robert's concern turned into confusion when Anthony followed him through the doorway.

"I'm here" Tom stated as determinedly as he could to Sybil, but knowing that every last person in the library, including Mr. Carson, was listening. He fixed his gaze on Sybil's lovely eyes, drawing strength from them, from her. She put her coffee cup down and got up to walk over to him, and stood by his side.

"I know this is what we agreed, but…now I don't think this is such a good idea. We mustn't worry Granny."  
Tom stiffened at her words. Perhaps this was her polite way of saying that she really had had second thoughts about marrying him. He didn't think he could go through another night and morning like those just past.

Anthony had been hanging back, but now stepped forward to Sybil.

"Please, Lady Sybil, I asked him to come, and he has" Anthony said, knowing how much courage it must have taken for Tom to get this far.  
Violet lost her patience, having heard them refer to her and not knowing why.

"Would someone please tell me what is going on, or have we all stepped through the looking glass?"

"Your grandmother has as much right to know as anybody else" stated Tom, thinking that he had got this far…now he wanted it all out in the open, no matter what the risks.

"Why don't I find that reassuring?" grumbled Violet.

"Mama, Papa, Granny…I am in love with Tom, and I am going to marry him." Sybil was still calm, taking Tom's hand and facing her family fearlessly. Tom didn't think he'd ever seen anything as magnificent. Anthony didn't think he'd seen anything as brave and looked at Edith's younger sister admiringly.

"What?!" Robert's first word was said purely in puzzlement. Cora was looking at her youngest daughter with amazement. Violet was stony-faced. Carson was visibly appalled.

"Lady Sybil has done me the great honour of accepting my proposal, Lord Grantham" Tom's voice was still wavering slightly, more than usual, but he held Sybil's hand and sensed Anthony's presence behind them.

"All the time you've been driving me about, bowing and scraping, you've been seducing my daughter behind my back?"

That was the last straw. Tom knew now he was in a fight of equals, and that he had right on his side.

"I don't bow and scrape! And I've not seduced anyone! Give your daughter some credit for knowing her own mind!"

"How dare you speak to me in that tone. You will leave at once."

"Oh, Papa!"

"This is a folly! A ridiculous, juvenile madness!"

"Hardly Lord Grantham. It seems to me that they have thought about this until they've wound themselves up in worry about how you and the family would receive the news" Anthony came forward, much to Tom and Sybil's relief. Then more support came from a very unexpected source. Violet held up her hand to stop the bickering.

"Sybil, what do you have in mind?"

Robert turned to his mother in exasperation.

"Mama, this is hardly…"

"No. She must have something in mind. Otherwise, she wouldn't have summoned him here."

"Thank you, Granny. Yes, we do have a plan. Tom's got a job on a paper. We will go to live in Dublin."  
Finally, Cora found her voice.

"To live with him? Unmarried?"

"I'll live with his mother while the banns are read. And then we'll be married...and I'll get a job as a nurse."

"What does your mother make of this, Branson?" asked Violet.

"If you must know, she thinks we're very foolish."

"So at least we have something in common."

The civilised discussion was broken then, as Robert's anger would no longer be contained. It broke out in the most violent manner.

"I won't allow it! I will not allow my daughter to throw away her life!"

"You can posture it all you like, Papa, it won't make any difference! Your threats are hollow, don't you see? 'I won't be received in London. I won't be welcome at court.' How do I make you understand? I couldn't care less."  
Violet sighed.

"Sybil, dear, this sort of thing is all very well in novels, but in reality, it can prove very uncomfortable. And while I am sure Branson has many virtues…he's a good driver…" she said to Robert who looked like he was about to interrupt.

"I will not give him up! This is my offer: I will stay one week to avoid the impression I've run away. And then we will marry in Dublin and whoever wishes to visit will be very welcome."

"That is out of the question" snorted Robert.

"Will you forbid Mary and Edith?" asked Sybil.

"I don't care if he does, I'm coming" stated Edith.

"As will I" agreed Anthony.

"And me" said Mary, "and Matthew if he can spare the time."

"And me" murmured Cora, but in a very determined way.

Robert realised that he had more of a battle on his hands than he had at first thought. He played the only card he had left.

"Know this: there will be no more money. From here on in, your life will be very different."

"Well, bully for that" Sybil rejoiced.

"If you love her, do you really think you can ruin her life like this?" Robert addressed Tom directly.

"I don't accept that I am ruining her life. Nor that I'm cutting her off from her family. If you want to cut her off, that's your decision."

"But how will you look after her? How can you hope to provide for her?"

"With respect, milord, you seem to think that she can only be happy in some version of Downton Abbey when it's obvious that if she wanted that life, she would not be marrying me. Doesn't it occur to you that I might believe the best guarantee of Sybil's happiness lies with me?" Tom's voice was secure and confident now, and Sybil looked up at him with pride as well as love.

"What about your sisters? What about their husbands-to-be? You will bring dishonour on them, on all of us? How can you be so selfish?"

"Thank you for your concern, Lord Grantham, but I think I have shoulders broad enough to bear any tittle-tattle, and I hardly think that is Edith's first concern, is it, my darling?" Anthony looked at Edith.

"Of course not. I just want Sybil to be happy."

"Mary?" Robert looked at her.

"I can't speak for Matthew, but as long as this doesn't tear the family apart, I know we can weather any storm. I just wish Sybil wasn't going so far away. But that's up to them."

"Mama?"

Violet looked back at her son with her usual acidic disdain.

"The aristocracy has not survived by its intransigence. Oh, no, no, we must work with what we've got to minimize the scandal."

"But what have we got to work with? He's a chauffeur, for heaven's sake!"

"Well, you'd be surprised. He's political, isn't he? And a writer. Well, I could make something out of that. And there's a family called Branson with a place not far from Cork. I believe they have a connection with the Howards. Well, surely, we can hitch him onto them?"

"Cora?" Robert's voice faltered. He knew if his wife took their side, he was beaten.

"She's my daughter, Robert. Don't ask me to forsake her. If she wants this so much that she is prepared to defy us, then nothing we say will dissuade her." She paused. "She's your daughter too, Robert. Do you want to lose her?"

"Of course I don't!" He thought for what seemed an age.

"Well, if I can't stop you, I see no profit in a quarrel. You'll have a very different life from the one you might have lived, but if you're sure it's what you want?"  
Robert looked quite broken, but Sybil looked up at Tom with a hopeful smile.

"I am."

"Then you may take my blessing with you, whatever that means."  
Everyone sighed in relief and smiled.

"Oh, Papa. It means more than anything!"  
She left Tom's side for the first time to hug her father in gratitude.  
Robert finally found an acceptable outlet for his displeasure.

"If you mistreat her, I will personally have you torn to pieces by wild dogs."

"I'd expect no less" Tom replied. He then found himself being shaken by the hand by Anthony, which meant, as Anthony thoroughly knew, that Robert had to shake Tom's hand as well or look very mean.

"Will you come over for the wedding, Papa?"

"We'll see. We'll talk about that later. And there will be some money. But not much."

* * *

_._

After all the fuss had died down, Anthony took Tom to one side.

"If Robert fails to honour his promise of money, you can always come to me, you know…just for a loan in case of emergencies, that sort of thing."

"Thank you, Anthony, but I've done my sums. I should be able to provide for Sybil on my salary at the paper…nothing grand, but she won't starve."

"Of course, of course. But things sometimes happen out of the blue, you know. I'd be very happy if you'd keep it in mind."

He smiled at the younger man.

"You do know, don't you, that I've got myself stranded without a car again? I think I may have to ask Edith to give me a lift back to Locksley. Where are you staying now?"

"I…I'm not sure. I don't think I'd really be welcome in my old quarters. The look on Mr. Carson's face when we were talking earlier said that, if it had been up to him, I would have been hanged, drawn, and quartered for asking for Sybil's hand."

"Then, would you accept a guest room at Locksley? Just until you get yourself sorted out and plans made? It would be nice to have some company for a while."

Tom looked at his future brother-in-law and knew that this sort of invitation was going to be offered as long as Anthony had money, whether Tom accepted or not. He decided to be gracious.

"That's very kind and generous of you, Anthony. Thank you. I'd like that very much."

* * *

_._

**_Thank you all so much for your kind reviews, follows, and favourites. I continued with the framework from canon for this scene, although I've condensed it and added in Anthony's, Mary's, and Edith's support for the Bransons, because someone said they rather enjoyed it last time, and it makes sense to me not to rewrite it and think myself better than Baron Fellowes._**

**_Then next chapter will depart canon again._**


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